


A Beautiful Thing

by lafiametta



Category: Outsiders (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Sasil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 34,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafiametta/pseuds/lafiametta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Hasil Farrell/Sally Ann ficlets I wrote based on prompts from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moonshiners (Great Depression AU)

**Prompt:** A little ficlet about [the picture](http://lafiametta.tumblr.com/post/139761581717/moonshiners-an-outsiders-great-depression-era-au) you posted. Where it's set in the 1800 and Hasil makes moonshine and goes to town the sell it and meets Sally Ann who works in the store! :)

* * *

 

 _“Happy days are here again_  
_The skies above are clear again_  
 _So let’s sing a song of cheer again_  
 _Happy days are here again…”_

Hasil just caught the last part of the song playing over the radio as he stepped inside the cozy warmth of the general store, and as the door slammed shut behind him, the bell on the back rang out in a jangled echo. Now that he was fully inside, with his bare hands he brushed the snowflakes off the shoulders of his worn and patched-through coat. It was only late October, but the snows had come early, dusting all the ground with fine layers of white, making his journey down the mountain all the more treacherous. 

_“Good men and women of Kentucky… you only have one vote this November…”_

When the storms came, that’s when the Farrells knew to dig in for the winter. That’s when they went to ground, burrowing into their homesteads like the hibernating animals that were their companions on the mountain. But looking through the stores, someone had noticed that they only had a small reserve of kerosene – not enough to see them through to spring – and the Elders had decided that a final run had to be made down the mountain, into town.  

There hadn’t been a need to select anyone: Hasil had volunteered to go. When he put his name forward, he tried to make it sound like a sacrifice he was willing to make for the clan, but inside he knew that it was just because he wanted to go down there, to get yet another tiny glimpse of the world beyond the mountain.

_“You should put your trust in a tried and tested candidate… one who can understand the troubles of the common man…”_

They sent him off with two bottles of ‘shine and the name of a man in town who would buy it from him – it had to be done quietly, now that it was illegal to make or sell it, and the Farrells wanted no trouble with the law – and he was likewise given the directions to the town’s general store, where he could trade the paper in his pocket for the kerosene his family needed.  

He glanced over at the counter, looking to see who he could talk to about his purchase, and then all at once the world seemed to stop its spinning. He felt everything shift, all around him, and he knew, as he looked at her, that his life was about to change. Had he been asked later, what it was that he first saw in her, as she stood across the room, that shopgirl’s apron tied neatly around her waist, he wouldn’t have been able to say. There were too many things to notice, all at once: the shine and light in her rich brown eyes, the full, round set of her mouth, her hair twisted up like a crown of glory atop her head. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  

_“Come November, put your trust in one man: Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt…”_

Hasil felt himself drawn towards her, drawn like a freezing man towards the warmth of a fire, wanting to know so many things about her. He wanted to know what she loved to do, what made her laugh, what she thought about when she was alone. But there was one thing he needed to know first, above everything else, and as he made his way to the counter, he could feel his heart beating in the anticipation of asking it. 

“Say,” he said, placing his hands on the counter, “What’s your name?”

She looked at him curiously, cautiously, her wide eyes taking him in.

“Sally-Ann,” she replied, the edge of her mouth curling up just enough to make his pulse race harder.

“Pleasure to meet ya, Sally-Ann,” he said, grinning widely and not caring a whit about it. “My name’s Hasil Farrell.”

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and in the background Hasil could hear someone else walking inside the store, the song on the radio playing up again. But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered now was standing right in front of him, the light shining off her like she was made of gold. 

_“…So let’s sing a song of cheer again  
Happy days are here again.”_


	2. Netflix and Chill

**Prompt** : Sally Ann introduces Hasil to the wonders of cinema, she seems like she'd have interesting taste in movies, she needs the escapism. I figure they'd have to to netflix or redbox it up, I don't imagine that town has a movie theater. Or if you wanted to write something where Sally Ann actually gets through to him about racism being a thing that she has to deal with, I'd love that, but it's harder/less fun to write things like that than fluff.

* * *

 

Sally-Ann crept past the treeline, stepping carefully under the green canopy of leaves as silently as she could manage. She could see him up ahead, about fifty yards or so, sitting on the overturned tree trunk, but he hadn’t noticed her yet. That was good: she had made it one of her goals to one day successfully sneak up on him and catch him by surprise. It hadn’t happened yet – he seemed to have an almost preternatural sense of hearing – but maybe today would be the day. 

They weren’t all that far from town, really – just a minute or two walk into the trees beyond the tiny parking lot of the Rev n’ Bev – but they had decided this would be their spot to meet when they could find the time to be together, on the days when Hasil could slip down from the mountain and Sally-Ann was finished up with work. And on those days, when James asked her when she would be home, she always gave him a time at least an hour or two past when she was actually scheduled to finish. This was their stolen time, a time that didn’t seem to really exist within the confined space of the real world. 

She was about twenty yards away now, and for a second, it seemed like he might have glimpsed her. So she tucked herself behind a tree, the rough bark biting through her cotton t-shirt, and then turned her head to sneak a quick glance at where he was sitting. 

But Hasil Farrell was nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly against her side she felt the press of a warm palm and before she could turn around and scream, it pulled across her waist and she heard a whisper in her ear. 

“Hey, there...” She knew the voice immediately, his drawl soft and low, hitting her in all the right places. 

“Damn it, Hasil, you scared me,” she said, letting out a tiny sigh as she turned towards him. “How’d you know I was there, anyway?”

He gave her a half-grin as he pulled his hand away, his eyes bright with amusement. 

“I been huntin’ a long time, yeah? I know how to track somethin’ that’s followin’ me.”

“Fine, then,” she replied, feeling her cheeks growing warm in response to the way he was looking at her. “You tracked me. What’re you gonna do now?”

“Not sure yet. Gotta think ‘bout it...” She watched as his face shifted, like he was trying to figure out how to exactly what to say next. “In the meantime, can I ask ya a question?”

“‘Course,” she replied. “‘Bout what?”

“Well, see, I just come from my friend Butch’s place, and right ‘fore I left, he said he and his girl were plannin’ to Netflix an’ chill once I was gone. I didn’t really wan’ to ask ‘im what that meant – seems foolish, I know – but I thought I’d ask ya... So, uh, what’s that mean?”

She would have answered him more quickly, but it was hard with her hand pressed up against her mouth, as she tried to keep herself from laughing. She sometimes forgot that there was so much he didn’t know about the world – all those little things she took for granted – but she found it charming anyway, and for the most part she had enjoyed playing the role of his guide and instructor. He found such delight in everything – the first taste of the french fries from McDonald’s she had bought him, the videos and photos she had saved on her phone – and even with things that were harder to explain – 9/11, Black Lives Matter – he listened intently, doing his best to make sense of it in the ways he knew how. 

But how was she going to explain this one?  _Netflix and chill, indeed._

“Um, well, Netflix is a place you can watch movies...”

“Movin’ pictures?”

“Right, movin’ pictures,” she repeated, trying not to laugh again. “But you watch ‘em on a screen... a computer screen, in your house.”

“Ya watch movin’ pictures in your house?” he asked in confusion. “On a computer...?”

“Yeah, it’s...” She stopped, not knowing how to help him understand. “Look, why don’t I just show you?”

He nodded his agreement, and before long they had made their way up the hill to her house, the only place she could think of that was private and had decent WiFi. Luckily, James was gone all afternoon at a job fair in Pineville, and the place would be empty for a fair amount of time. She grabbed her old laptop from her room and found a seat next to Hasil on the couch, their bodies grazing as they settled against the cushions. 

She tried to think of what to show him – she didn’t want to overwhelm him with things that were too loud or had too many explosions, and anything too recent might talk about things he wouldn’t really understand. Quickly glancing over her “Continue Watching” list, she saw something she thought would probably work, one of her favorites, something she always watched when she wanted to escape from her life for a while. 

“Here, I think you’ll like this,” she said, hitting the play button. “It’s a classic. It’s from the 1960s.”

“They had movin’ pictures in the 1960s?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, they’ve been ‘round a long time... Look, just watch, okay?” 

As the movie began, the title credits first appeared, and knowing that he had no idea what it said, she read it to him. 

“It’s called  _Vertigo._ The director – the man who made it – his name was Alfred Hitchcock. Here...” she said, pointing at the screen. “Watch this beginning part. It’s good.” 

His eyes flicked over to the screen and she couldn’t help but watch him, his clear enchantment with the moving images never once appearing to fade. He seemed to be following the story line pretty well, only stopping to ask her questions once or twice along the way. It was only when they got to the part where the private investigator was driving across different parts of the city that she felt compelled to explain further.

“That’s San Francisco, Hasil,” she said. “It’s in California.”

“California?” he exclaimed. “I got a cousin that’s lived there. He don’t talk ‘bout it much, though. Ya ever been there?”

“No,” she answered. “I’ve never been outta Kentucky.”

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, turning his face towards her, and he smiled sweetly.

“We’ll go one day, me an’ you. We’ll go to San Francisco. An’ we’ll walk on the beach an’ see the ocean.” 

He looked so sincere, and she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that somehow, simply through the power of his own faith in the two of them, they could be together – not hiding from his family or from hers, not afraid of being caught all the time, but free to find themselves in each other, free to love and be loved without any pretense or restraint. That feeling – that wanting – was so real, and it expanded so rapidly across her chest that she had little notion of what to do with it. So she did the only thing she thought might help: she leaned towards him and pressed her mouth against his. He responded quickly, instinctively, and it was only when she momentarily pulled back that he spoke.

“Whatcha doin’, Sally-Ann?” he asked slowly, his voice laced with heat.

“This is the ‘chill’ part of Netflix and chill, Hasil,” as she pushed his hair back and her mouth found the space between his neck and jaw, right below his earlobe.

“But... uh... what’s it gotta do with the movie?”

“Nothin’,” she replied, pulling away a little so he just felt the warmth of her breath on his skin. “You want me to stop?”

“Nah, it’s a’right,” he said, angling himself so he could grasp her waist in his hands, his mouth now searching for hers. “I think I may like this part the best...”


	3. Up the Mountain

**Prompt:** maybe something where hasil carries her up shay mountain?

* * *

 

The sun was high overhead, and the light and the warmth were beating down hard against his shoulders and the back of his neck, even through the wild green shadows of the trees. They weren’t too far from their destination, but it was clear to Hasil that she was tiring, her pace slowing with each successive step she took.

The two of them had started walking earlier that morning, when the light had just begun to stretch across the pale blue sky, the air filled with the sound of birds chattering happily as they gathered in long rows along the power lines. She hadn’t told him how she was able to get away, and he hadn’t asked. There was something strange and wonderful about the fact that she was coming up the mountain with him, and to question how it was possible would only serve to break the spell.

“ _I want to see it, where you live_ ,” she had said, as they had laid together, still intertwined, their heartbeats turning heavy and slow in the darkness. He had turned the idea over his mind, knowing the utter recklessness of it, knowing that if he were caught bringing an outsider up the mountain, he’d more than likely lose a hand as opposed to just a few fingers. But deep inside, he wanted her to see it, too – he wanted her to come to know his world just as he had come to know hers. He wanted to show her so many things: the half-hidden cave that he had claimed for his own during the summer following his twelfth winter. The old creek, with water so clear you could see the bright patterns of the rocks that lay across its bottom. His cabin, with its walls built right into the trees, built with his own two hands with the intention that, one day, he would likewise have a family to live in it with him. He would show her where he sat and did his carvings, where he lay at night and listened to the vast layers of sound that emerged from out of the trees.  

No one could ever know she was there, though; not even Asa, who Hasil had considered – for a moment – telling. But he knew Asa would have tried to talk him out of it, probably would have tried to scare him with stories of his time in the box. He probably would have told him to have patience, but then again, when it came to Sally-Ann, Hasil was not a patient man. He regretted the fact that they had so little time – just the rest of the day and the night – before he would have to take her back down at the sunrise, but even so he was determined to enjoy every single moment of it.

Right now, though, he could tell his girl was struggling. She was strong, and tough as nails, but he knew she wasn’t used to going up and down the mountain, not like someone born and bred on it.

“Sally-Ann, ya doin’ okay?” he asked, stopping and turning towards her, as he placed his hand against the narrow of her back. He could feel the warmth of her skin through her shirt, slightly damp with exertion.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied, giving him a shy little half-smile. “My feet kinda hurt, though.”

He looked down, only just now realizing how ridiculous her tiny white shoes were, how unsuitable they were for the terrain.

“How long they’ve been hurtin’?”

“I dunno… a while…” she answered, shrugging her shoulders a little, a tinge of embarrassment seeping adorably into her cheeks.

“An’ how come ya didn’t say nothin’?”

“I jus’ didn’t want to bother you. I mean… you do this all the time.”

He shook his head, wanting to kiss her and shake her for her silliness all at once. Of course, he should have known that she would have wanted to prove herself, wanted to show that she could keep going without complaint, no matter how painful or unpleasant it might be. But it was all so unnecessary: she didn’t need to prove anything. Her simply being here with him was proof enough of how she felt.

And as he looked down on her, with her wide brown eyes gazing up into his, all he could feel was the rapid burst of heat inside his chest, as if someone had climbed inside and lit a match, only to watch the flame quickly spiral and cascade out of control. He desperately wanted to touch her, to see if he could kindle that same fire inside of her, but he couldn’t risk it here, not out in the open like this where they might be seen.

So he turned and kneeled down, his back to her, and then glanced at her over his shoulder.

“C’mon, then…” he said. “Jump on.”

“Hasil, _what_ are you doin’?” she asked, smiling at him even as her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I’m gonna carry ya the res’ of the way.”

“No, you’re not,” she protested. “You’re not gonna carry me up this mountain.”

“I am. An’ I ain’t movin’ ‘til ya jump on.” He jerked his head a little, in the direction they had been headed. "C'mon…” he added, grinning, “we ain’t got all day.”

She placed her hands on her hips, as if she meant to argue further with him. But then she looked down at him and smiled, a little laugh escaping from her lips, as she shook her head in amused disbelief.

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t you drop me…”

“I ain’t gonna drop a li'l thing like you,” he replied.

“I’m not that little,” she said, curling her arms around his neck.

“You’re perfect…” he murmured. “C’mon…” he added, just as he felt the quick squeeze of her legs as she wrapped them around his waist. He pulled his arms under her thighs, wrapping her up tight, and then he rose to his feet, savoring the feel of her pressed up against his back. Her breath was a soft hush against his neck, and even in the warmth of the sun he felt the sudden urge to shiver.

“Ya okay back there?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said softly.

“A'right, then, Sally-Ann,” he said, turning his head back to look at her once more. “Let’s go home.”


	4. A Place of Safety

**Prompt:** Could you write a ficlet about Hasil finding Sally Ann at the deceased church lady's house after the fight with James, please? I hated that they left it open-ended like that.

 **Prompt:** Can I request a ficlet exploring what you think will happen on Tuesday? Mainly why Hasil kicks down the door to Sally-Ann’s house. Or Hasil’s flower-picking, since we see he brings her a bouquet to the laundry mat. Thanks! :)

* * *

 

There was only the sound of his heart beating wildly, like dark crashes of thunder in his ears, and in his mouth there was the taste of blood.

He called out her name, over and over, his eyes madly searching for some trace of her. But she was nowhere. She was gone.

His mind was still racing, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. And it had all happened so fast. He had only meant to talk to her brother, to get him to see how much he cared for Sally-Ann, how he had intentions for her, honorable ones. No brother, no matter how hard-hearted, could fail to recognize the depth of his feelings, and Hasil could only hope that, in time, he would come to acquiesce to Hasil’s courting of his sister. That had been the plan, anyway.

But it was the mention of Hasil’s name that set him off – that bitter legacy of his family, all the contempt and the fear and the bad blood they had bred within the hearts of the inhabitants below – and it was then Hasil knew that he would never win this man over. That the door was consequently slammed in his face would have been cause enough for anger, but then he heard her cries from behind it, and the whole world shifted into shades of black and red.

At first, it had just been a question of getting to her, of getting her away from him, but seeing her there, cowering on the ground, his thoughts – as much as he was able to entertain any – were overshadowed by a blinding desire to extract punishment. He had to show this man – through the only language he seemed to understand – that there would be sharp and immediate consequences for threatening her and causing her harm. It was clear from the beginning, though, that her brother had underestimated Hasil, written him off as some scrawny mountain boy who wouldn’t withstand the first punch.

It was an oversight Hasil had few qualms in correcting.

No Farrell grew up on the mountain not knowing how to fight, and Hasil had taken in all that rough schooling better than most. Always a little smaller than the other boys, he had quickly learned that what easily made up for size was an absence of fear, a willingness to fight dirty and strike out without a single thought of mercy. Those were the lessons he drew from as he finally slipped the knife from his belt and drew it carefully against her brother’s throat.

He held it there, the bright edge of it at a sharp angle, hearing nothing but the sound of his own labored breath. It was only then that he realized that he was no longer hearing her voice; he didn’t even have to look up to know that she was gone.

And now, all he knew was that he had to find her, to make sure she was safe and unharmed.

Another man might have been daunted by such a challenge. She had left no trace of her path, no tracks in the earth by which to follow her movements. But Hasil wasn’t simply a hunter; he was a Farrell, and like his kin he knew the ways of nature and her creatures. Sally-Ann was scared – he had seen it held plainly in her eyes for the split-second they had caught each other’s gaze – and like any frightened animal, no doubt she would have sought a place of safety. She would have gone to ground, made herself small and protected within the confines of her chosen refuge. Hasil could think of only one place that might fit such a description.

Even though he had only been there once, it didn’t take him long to find, the twilight deepening against the sky as he raced across broken sidewalks and through the tall grass.

The windows were dark, no sign of light inside, but he knew that didn’t mean much. She wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention to herself, not if she was intent on hiding herself so completely.

The window pushed open with ease, offering little protest, and Hasil stepped inside, for a moment seeing nothing in front of him but undifferentiated shadows. It only took a moment, though, for him to hear it, loud enough to his trained hunter’s ear. It was plaintive, and it tore deeply at him, compelling him to make his way across the room, closer to the huddled form that had produced it. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see her shadowed outline as she sat on the floor, her back up against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She had been crying.

His reaction was swift and instinctual, as he found himself on the ground next to her and tried to pull her into his arms. Her eyes widened, though, as if somehow awakening from a dream, and she turned her face towards him, giving him a full glimpse of the fear and panic written across her features. She strained and struggled in his grasp, and all he could think to do was to hold onto her, in the hope of quelling whatever terror seemed to be striking at her. And then he hoped that it wasn’t actually _him_ she was scared of, despite the fact that the last time she had seen him he had been smashing her brother’s head against the floor.

“Hey, hey, shhhhh,” he whispered, holding her face in his hands, pouring his gaze into hers. “Hey, c’mere, look at me… look at me…”

Her body was so tense, and her eyes still so distant from where he was.

“Sally-Ann, c’mon, look at me… it’s okay, I promise… you’re okay…”

“Hasil?” she whispered, her eyes finally coming into focus as she turned them up towards his.

“I’m here, Sally-Ann.” He wished he had something better to tell her, but that was all he had thought enough to say.

“Why… why’d you do that?” she said quietly, her breath a tiny waver. “He was gonna… I don’t understand… why… why would you do that?”

He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, trying so hard to understand what exactly she was asking him. And he knew there was only one real answer he could give her.

“He was hurtin’ ya, and… I had to stop ‘im. But, look, I didn’t mean to scare ya… I swear. I’m so sorry, Sally-Ann. I jus’… I jus’ couldn’t let ‘im hurt ya.”

“Hasil, I… I don’t…” She paused, as if suddenly realizing something, and she raised her hand up to gently touch the side of his nose. “You’re bleedin’…”

“Don’t ya worry none ‘bout me…” he said, letting out a half-amused and half-exasperated breath. “I seen worse.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding gently as he gave her a little smile. She looked softly at him, her eyes filled with something he hoped was trust.

Hasil thought back to the words she had thrown at him this afternoon, which now seemed so long ago, all those terrible things she had called him, and how it had sliced at him right down to the bone. But even still, some part of him hadn’t believed her. Even as she had walked away, out into the street, he had wanted to hope that she still felt something for him, that somehow he would be able to find his way back into her heart. He hadn’t hoped in vain – now she was here, in his arms once more, but at what cost? Now that Hasil knew what her brother was capable of, and the depths of his anger, what could they do? How could he possibly keep her safe?

He pulled his arms around her more tightly, drawing her against his chest. He felt her shoulders drop a little, the rest of her body easing against his. It was terrible, not knowing what might be coming for them, but it was just enough to have right now, this tiny moment, belonging just to them, and he never wanted to let it go.


	5. A Few Things (Up the Mountain, Part 2)

**Prompt:** Hey Lafiametta, can you continue that sasil story with Hasil showing Sally Ann around his home and him being nervous about what she thinks? Thanks!!

* * *

 

Sally-Ann hadn’t really known what to expect. She’d been camping a couple of times, out in the woods as part of a school trip, but that had involved tents and sleeping bags and traipsing off into the trees with a roll of toilet paper. And it was all very temporary, just a few days outside, with the bugs and the dirt, the nighttime silence so loud she could barely sleep. 

But up on this mountain, where he lived – through summers and winters and the pouring rain and the blanketing snow – everything seemed strange and foreign, like it was from another world.

Hasil’s cabin was just as he had described it, set into the trees, with the two-sided porch and the open windows, although, if she were being honest with herself, she was pretty shocked at how small it was. It seemed impossible that someone could live there, with no space to move around, no real place to put anything. 

It was only once she stepped inside that she understood. There was a mattress laid across a cot on one side of the room, filling most of it, and two chairs siting against the other wall. There were a few things here and there – a pile of clothes, another pair of boots, a few carved animals in various states of completion – but most of all she was struck by how little there was. She thought back to her own room, all her books, her childhood stuffed animals, her closet full of clothes, the band posters lining her walls.

He was watching her, she could tell, trying to gauge her reaction to seeing his home, and for once he seemed quieter, less sure of himself. 

“So, uh… this is where I live,” he said, throwing his hands out in the air for emphasis. “It’s not that big, I know, but…”

“It’s great,” she said, walking towards the mattress and taking a seat. There was a quilt laid across the top, its pattern a beautiful design of overlapping diamonds, even as the colors in the fabric had started to gently fade. She wondered if he had pulled it out especially for her. 

“Well, you got yer bed right there,” he said, pointing towards where she was sitting. “For sleepin’ an’… uh, for…uh…” He trailed off, a sheepish grin flashing across his face. “An’, uh, yer chairs, for when ya’s got comp’ny. Ya can sit outside, too, watch th’ afternoon go by… An’…” He stopped, the smile fading. As if looking for something else to mention, he turned around, but quickly swiveled back to face her. “Well, that’s it… that’s everythin’…” 

He gave her a little tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. 

But there was something else she had seen, something he hadn’t mentioned. In the corner, by the door, was a weathered wooden box, a little smaller than a shoe box, the sides of it stained a deep chestnut brown.

“What’s that?” she asked, nodding towards it.

“Oh, uh… jus’ some things I keep.” He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t want to press him, not if he didn’t seem comfortable talking about it. But then he looked at her, tilting his head like he was thinking something over. “D’ya wan’ ta see it?” he asked, a cautious lilt in his voice.

“’Course,” she said. She would look at anything he was willing to share with her, and the box itself had piqued her curiosity.

“Okay,” he said, and walked over to pick it up. He sat down next to her, his weight on the mattress pulling her down against him a little. The box was now sitting in his lap, and he carefully moved to pull the lid off.

There wasn’t much in it, just a few odds and ends, but they seemed to be arranged deliberately, intentionally, as if he often found occasion to want to look at them.

The first thing she noticed – perhaps not surprisingly – was a carved wooden bird, but unlike the one he had given her before, this one had its wings outstretched, the tips of the feathers splayed like it was coasting on the wind. It was somewhat crudely made, though, rough scratches written across its surface, as if made by less than skilled hands.

“That was my firs’ one,” he said. “My grandfa’ helped me.”

She smiled, thinking of Hasil as a young boy, his child’s hands gripping onto the wooden figure.

Next to the bird, there was a pocket watch, bright silver and still on its chain. She guessed that the two hands had probably not moved for a long time.

“That was his, too,” Hasil added. “Not for tellin’ time, a’ course. We don’t really worry ‘bout that none. But he liked to carry it ‘round in his pocket, an’ som’times he let me polish it.”

The next item surprised her; it was a photograph, a Polaroid, the edges of it yelllowing slightly with age. What was even stranger was what it showed: a man and a woman, dressed more or less normally, although the man’s facial hair and the woman’s dress made it look like they were from the ‘70s or ‘80s. But the way they were placed in the photo, with him sitting stiff and upright in a chair and her standing behind him so formally with her hands on his shoulder, it looked like something out of another time, another century.

“My folks,” he said. “On their weddin’ day.”

The last thing was a coin, so dark she could barely see it, most of it corroded with dirt and the pale green of oxidized metal.

“Can I…?” she asked, wanting to look at it closer.

He nodded, and as she picked it up, she realized it was heavier than it had seemed. In the light, tilted just the right way, she could see the writing on it, and the design of an eagle on the back.  _ONE DOL._ , it read, and on the front was a year:  _1867_. 

“That’s somethin’ I foun’. Well… my sister foun’ it. We was jus’ chilluns, jus’ l’il ones diggin’ in the groun’ for fun.”

“You have a sister?” she said, passing the coin back to him.

“I had a sister.” He looked down at the object in his hand, absently rubbing the edge of it with his thumb. “I’s just ‘leven winters. She was fo’rteen. Got a real bad fever, an’ they couldn’t do nothin’ for her.” He was quiet for a moment, and everything became so still, Sally-Ann could only hear the soft rhythm of her own breathing. Then he gently placed the coin back in the bottom of the wooden box and closed the lid on top.

“Sally-Ann, I know… I know it don’t seem like I’s got a lotta things… not like some people might…”

“Hasil –”

“Som’times… I jus’ don’t know what I can offer ya…”

“Hasil, that isn’t important.” He looked at her, and she could see the shadow of disbelief in his eyes. “It  _isn’t_ …” she repeated. She had to make him understand, to get him to see what she now knew: this cabin, that box, it was more than enough. It was a life, it was a whole world. “Up here, you got everythin’.”

“I do?”

She nodded. “Everythin’ that matters.”

He paused, and then he smiled at her so sweetly, she could feel her heart begin to break into a thousand brilliant pieces.

“You’re right. I got everythin’ that matters.”


	6. Something For You (Up the Mountain, Part 3)

**Prompt:**  Jealous!Sasil could be either one of them ;) 

 **Prompt:** wouldnt it be fun to see sasil be frisky, and in love, and conversing, instead of going headlong into tragedy???

 **Prompt:**  a possible prompt: Sally Ann tells Hasil about getting stood up once before. Prom maybe? Dunno. 

* * *

 

The afternoon had slipped through their fingers so easily, so quickly, making Hasil wish he somehow had the power to suspend time, to encase this moment in glass and then remain in it with her for the rest of his days. 

They hadn’t been doing much at all, just talking, sitting side by side, telling stories in quiet voices and learning each other’s ways. She had told him about growing up down below the mountain, all the wild stories she had heard as a child about his family, and how the older boys would dare each other to take a brief foray onto Farrell land in the low foothills of the mountain, only to run back in panic after being spooked by the snap of a branch or a bird flapping by. She told him about her schooling, how she had learned about the world and everything in it, how she had read books written by people who lived and died hundreds of years ago. He had just listened, entranced, his heart filled with wonder that such things were possible, just as he felt a sudden wave of melancholy with the realization that these things –for now at least – remained beyond his grasp. 

He had finally thought to ask her about the words she had used to describe their failed attempt at a date, what it had meant when she said she’d been “stood up” before. It hadn’t involved standing up so much as sitting down, she said, waiting for an arrival, a knock on the door, until finally having to admit that no one would be coming.  _He hadn’t been the first_ , he remembered her saying, and now he understood the full import of that statement, how he had just seemed like another in a long line of men that had made her promises and failed to deliver on them. But she was wrong about the other part – he  _would_ be the last. Because at this moment, Hasil swore to himself that wouldn’t give her any cause to doubt him ever again.  

Inside his cabin, it had grown dark, the light slowly fading away and the shadows lengthening into the corners of the room. Already, he could hear the twilight sounds, all the creaking and calling from the wilds beyond, a music as familiar to him as his own breathing.

He stood up, stretching a little on his feet, as he walked over to the table where he had a pair of hand-held lanterns. He was lighting the first one when he saw her lean half-way off the mattress so she could reach for something inside her bag.

“Almost forgot,” she said. “Brought something for you.”

“Ya didn’t bring nothin’ for me,” he said, smiling at the ridiculousness of her thought that he might want anything else up here besides just her.

“I did. Grabbed it from work yesterday. And it’s not much – don’t get too excited.” 

As she sat back down on the bed, he could see what she held, fully within the grasp of her palm, bright and round. He knew what it was, of course, but it had been a long time since he’d seen one.

“It’s an orange, Hasil.”

“I know...” he replied. “I’s seen an orange b‘fore... it’s jus’... Ya brought this for me?”

“Yeah... well, I thought maybe we could share it.” And then she smiled, dropping her gaze in that tiny way that always made his heart turn in circles within his chest. 

“Here,” she said, as she started to dig her thumbnail into the rind. But even as he lit the second lantern and put it back down on the table, he could see that she had only been able to peel off tiny bits of the surface. “Sorry,” she said, quickly looking up at him. “My nails are short...” 

“Lemme have it,” he said, taking it from her outstretched hand just as he pulled his knife out of its sheath on his belt. With a single continuous motion, he spiraled his knife across its circumference, until all that was left was a long strip of bright orange rind and the fruit itself, which he passed back to her. The smell of it -- fresh and sweetly ripe -- permeated the small space, filling the corners of his mind, even as it was currently occupied with thoughts of how the evening shadows were dancing across the tiny curves of her face. 

“C’mon,” she said, tilting her head towards the open space next to her on the mattress as she dug her fingertips into the flesh of the orange. She handed him a piece, and he was just about to taste it when he could hear the stir of movement from outside his cabin. Not an animal, he knew, not with the shuffling scrape of feet against the dirt, not with the faint cry of combined male voices joined in easy companionship.

He handed her back the orange slice, silently lifting his index finger to his lips, just as he heard the first words from outside.

“Hasil, ya in there?”

He recognized the voice as belonging to his second cousin, Micah, and from the sound of it, there were a few others with him, probably not more than thirty feet away from his front door.

Giving her one last look, one tiny nod of the head in mutual understanding, he scrambled off the bed and trotted outside into the darkness. There were a half-dozen of his cousins, including Micah, clearly on their way somewhere.

“Hey,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“We’s all headed down to the barn. Gonna enjoy som’ brew, play som’ black an’ red. Ya comin’?”

“Nah, not t’night,” Hasil answered.

“Ah, c’mon, now. ‘S gon’ be a good time.” Micah raised his eyebrows at him appraisingly. “Lu’ceel Shay’s gon’ be there, friendly as ever. An’ we all know she’s got her eyes set on ya.”

“A fine offer, cuz,” Hasil said. “But ta tell ya the truth, I’s feelin’ a tad indisposed t’night, so I think I may be forced ta decline.”

“Ya sure?” Micah asked.

“Yeah,” Hasil replied. “But y’all enjoy ya’selves...”

Back inside his cabin it was still and quiet -- which was good, as he wasn’t sure his cousins were quite out of hearing distance yet -- but then he looked at her, her face cool and impassive, and it became clear that she wasn’t meeting his gaze, her eyes deliberately fixed on a spot along the floorboards. He wasn’t sure what he might have done to upset her, but he knew he needed to fix it, and quickly.

“Sally-Ann...” he said softly, finding a seat across from her on the mattress.

“Lu’ceel Shay, huh?” she asked, still not looking at him. “‘Got her eyes set on you’?”

A wave of fear washed over him as he realized that she might have gotten the wrong idea after overhearing his conversation with Micah. 

“Look, don’t ya worry ‘bout that none, don’t ya worry ‘bout Lu’ceel Shay,” he said imploringly. “‘Cause ya know I only got eyes for one girl.” 

“Another girl on the mountain?” She didn’t look up, but he could see the corners of her mouth turning in barely-contained amusement, and then he breathed a little easier, knowing that her displeasure was all for show, that she was just playing with him a little.

“Nah, not on the mountain,” he replied.

“Down in town, then?” she said, her wide brown gaze flashing up to meet his. “Maybe I met her? Maybe Rhonda from Tony’s? She bartends on Friday nights...”

“Nah, not her. Ta be honest, I don’t know when ya woulda met her. She’s real busy, works two jobs.” He edged closer to her, just barely pressing his body against hers. 

“That right?” she said, her voice warm and breathless. 

“But ya migh’a seen her ‘round. She’s jus' a l’il thing, ‘bout this high.” He raised the flat of his hand right in front of his nose. “Always squirmin’ when I touch her...” he added, grinning. 

“Hasil!” she cried, her cheeks rounding with amused embarrassment. 

And then he did touch her, grasping her in his arms, his lips finding hers over and over again in the soft glow of the lantern’s light. She tasted sweet and bright, the scent of orange lingering as she breathed against him. He was falling, drowning, but he had no fear. All he wanted to do was surrender to it. 

But even in the chaos of his thoughts, he realized that before they went any further, he had to tell her something, he had to make it completely clear to her. 

“Sally-Ann,” he said, pulling his face from hers a little. “There ain’t no one else, there ain’t never gon’ be...”

“Hasil?” she murmured. 

“Hmmm?"

“Stop talkin’.” 

And then she kissed him again, the space between them quickly filling with fire and light, and nothing in the world could have enjoined him to disobey her. 


	7. A Sign

**Prompt:** Hi. I have a Sasil ficlet prompt. Sally Ann sees Hasil and runs full speed into his arms. Whether it's happiness, relief or a sense of feeling secure (after the James thing) or all of the above, she runs straight to her bear.

* * *

 

She wanted to cry. But she wasn’t going to.

All day, it had just been one damn thing after another. When she came in, she found out that the other girl working the shift with her had called in sick and they hadn’t been able to get anyone to cover, so Sally-Ann had worked through both her breaks as well as lunch. And a few hours in, some kid had thrown up right in front of the fountain drink dispenser, leaving her to have to mop the whole thing up, the smell of it combining with the sticky-sweet aroma of soda, making her a little glad she had been forced to skip out on eating.

And then, just a few minutes ago, just as she had been about to finish her shift, something had gone wrong with the credit card machine. It had been acting up all day, running slow and flashing weird numbers across the screen, but then, in the middle of a transaction, it just died, and the middle-aged white lady whose ten gallons of gas Sally-Ann had been ringing up somehow convinced herself that it must have been done on purpose. She started yelling, hollering about getting charged double when she would be asked to swipe her card again, and Sally-Ann couldn’t say much of anything to calm her down. There was nothing that worked; it was almost as if just talking to her made the lady more angry. It was only when she heard the lady mutter a word at her, one she had heard enough in her life but never seemed to hurt any less each time it was said, that she decided she was done. She walked away from the register, the lady turning to stare at her with her mouth agape, and went to grab her jacket and her bag from the tiny back office. Within seconds, she was out the door, and she absolutely refused to look back.

The worst part was that where she was going wasn’t all that much better than where she had just come from. Sure, there were no kids throwing up or racist old ladies, but there was nothing there for her either, no one to talk to about what had just happened. She couldn’t tell James about the lady; that would just make him angry, and even if it wasn’t directed at her, she knew better than to say or do anything that might set him off. Instead, she would push it aside, tell herself to stop thinking about it, and then she would go home and start dinner and after they had eaten, she would sit across from him in the living room while he watched the baseball game and drank a six-pack of beer, and she would try not to think about anything at all.  

She wouldn’t think of things that made her happy, things that made her laugh, all the sweet words he whispered to her when they were alone, the way he said her name, the way he touched her that somehow calmed and excited her all at once.

She tried so hard not to think of him when he wasn’t around; it hurt too much otherwise. The thing was, he made it near-on impossible.

He hadn’t been down into town for a few days, and it would probably be a few more before he came back. Something was going on up on the mountain, something important, she could tell, involving whoever it was that was in charge of everyone up there. He had been pretty hazy on the details, and she didn’t want to press him, but it was clear Hasil was wrapped up in some dangerous business and needed to be present for whatever was happening on the mountain.

Still, she would have given so much to have him here right now.

She made her way out of the Rev n’ Bev parking lot, crossing the two-lane road, walking home the way she always did along the narrow shoulder. Her mind easily drifted back to that first time he had walked along it with her, when she had meant to push him away but ended up kissing him instead.

Just past the speed limit sign was the tree, the one he had ducked behind when he saw the police car, whose rough bark she had traced with her fingertips as she had sought to quell the unquiet fluttering of her heart. Only now, when she looked at it, she could see something on it, something that made her stop in her tracks and stare.

Against the dark green moss and the lichen, there was a feather, about the length of her hand, striped brown and white. It was nailed to the tree.

To any other person, it wouldn’t have made much sense at all, just a strange thing that someone had done for no understandable reason. But Sally-Ann knew exactly what it was. It was a sign, a message, intended just for her.

She didn’t even bother to check the road as she ran across it, making her way into the trees beyond, as she ducked around branches and through the green creeping vine that seemed to cover everything. In the clearing a ways beyond, she could see him, at first sitting on the tree trunk but now rising to his feet as he saw her approach.

She couldn’t stop herself, not when he was here, waiting for her, hoping she would see his sign and know its meaning. There was no slowing down, no hesitation. Leaves were whipping against her arms, but still, she ran, her feet barely catching up with her heart, running until she had closed the distance between them, running until he finally caught her in his embrace, the force of their collision knocking him back a little.

If he was surprised by such an open display on her part, he hid it well, his only response being to pull his arms around her and hold her close. Within the circle of his body, it felt just as she had imagined it would: warm, small, safe. She breathed deep to take him in; he smelled like sunlight and pine trees, like wood smoke and wild, open spaces. Everything was right here, everything she needed, and all she could do was hold onto him, her hands gripped tight against his back, her cheek pressing up against his shoulder.

“Hey...” he said, tilting his head down to look at her. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she murmured. 

“Ya sure?”

She nodded against him and took another deep breath. “Can we just stay here... for a minute?”

“‘Course...” he said, smiling at her a little. “Long as ya like.”

She smiled back, not wanting to think about the fact that it was never as long as she liked, not wanting to think about how she would eventually have to let go and say goodbye and walk away. So she closed her eyes and she stopped thinking, and all she could feel was him.


	8. Gifts

**Prompt:** Firstly I'd like to say i love all your stories. I was wondering if you could write a prompt with sally ann teaching hasil how to read, sort of similar to the scene with sunny and veil from into the badlands. thank you 

* * *

 

He was excited about something, she could tell. There was a kind of underlying restlessness in his movements, in the way he walked and threw out his hands when he spoke, as if his body was somehow trying to express the thoughts he didn’t want to say to her just yet.

It was only after they walked up the hill to the abandoned house –  _their house_ , as she now had begun to think of it – and relaxed onto the couch in the living room that he seemed ready to share with her what he had been keeping to himself.

“So, uh, I brought ya som’thin’...”

“Hasil...” she said, in lighthearted protest. Sally-Ann didn’t really know why he seemed to feel this urge to bring her things, sometimes things he made, or even just found, like a long, striped hawk’s tail feather or a red and black river stone polished smooth by the water. They were always small things, little things, but she knew they meant so much more, some small bit of beauty and wonder in the world that he wanted to give her. 

He reached into the pouch on his belt, pulling from it an object wrapped in a small square of cloth. She turned towards him on the couch, tucking her feet under herself, a tiny smile unconsciously finding its way onto her lips. Taking the object from his hands, she momentarily glanced at his face, at the lines creasing across his forehead, as if he was somehow nervous at her reaction. Her heart swelled; just knowing that he cared about what she thought, that he wanted so much to please her with his gift, it was almost enough for her to set it aside, sight unseen, and kiss him right there and then. 

Pulling away the cloth, she looked down at a carved wooden figure, small enough to sit squarely within the palm of her hand. It was small and neat, so realistic that she knew it must have been done from life. The body was rounded, the strong back legs drawn towards it so that just the paws could be seen underneath, the animal’s head resting on its front legs as its long, broad ears lay flat against its back. 

“Rabbits, they’s watchful creatures,” he said. “Always careful of danger an’ trouble. But then, they find a burrow, som’place safe. That’s where they’s th’ happiest.”

Her thumb traced along the carved grooves of the animal’s spine, against the cross-hatching of fur inside the ears. Out of some unbidden curiosity, she turned it over, wondering what the rest of it looked like. It was only then that she nearly stopped breathing. 

Across the bottom, carved into the body, were two words, two names: hers. 

Her eyes flashed up at his again, catching his bashful grin, the way he glanced away in sweet self-consciousness. 

“How?” she asked. “I thought...” she added, her voice trailing off. 

“Uh, my cousin, he’s a reader. Gave me some schoolin’.”

“And he taught you this? My name?”

He nodded, the smile on his face growing wider.

“What else did he teach you?”

“Well... tha’s ‘bout as far as we got.” 

“All you know how to write is my name?” she asked, incredulous. It was impossible. It was ridiculous. It was the most romantic thing she had ever heard. 

“Yeah,” he replied, his eyes soft and warm, and now it was her turn to smile and look away. She glanced back at the figure in her hands, at the smoothed edges where the letters had been cut into the wood. She would never be able to look at it again without thinking of how he must have worked on it, carving out letters that, for all intents and purposes, meant nothing to him, just shapes and lines, that only once put together would transform into the image of her that he carried in his mind. 

“Hasil, wait...” she said, only realizing something at this moment. “You don’t know your own name, then, do you?”

His face grew serious for a moment, and then he shook his head. 

“Well... I can show you that, at least...” she replied, setting the carved wooden figure down gently on the coffee table in front of them and reaching down into her bag. She pulled out a pen and her small lined notebook, opening it up to the first blank page. 

“Here,” she said, clicking the pen and handing both objects to him. He took them awkwardly, as if unsure exactly what to do, at first gripping the pen in his fist like a knife. 

“Look, hold it with the ends of your fingers, okay?” She held out her hand, her thumb held tight to her index and middle fingers, and watched as he modeled his grip after hers. 

“So, uh... Hasil, how d’you spell that?” He quickly looked over at her, and she laughed, understanding her mistake. “Of course, you don’t know... Nobody knows, do they?” No one had ever written his name, she realized, not on a birth certificate, or a paycheck, or even a birthday card.

“It’s your name,” she said. “How d’you wanna spell it?”

“Wha’s the simpl’st way?” he asked, grinning a little. 

“Well, uh... the first letter’s an H, like ‘house’ or ‘hello,’ and that’s just two lines drawn up and down, next to each other, not touchin’.” She watched as he drew the two lines, hesitantly at first, but then with a little more pressure on the page. “And then there’s a line that connects them, right in the middle.” 

He followed her instructions, marking the third line, and then he looked up at her once more, his eyes wide with excitement. “H?”

“Right, that’s it,” she said, her heart filling with something she couldn’t quite put into words. “So next is an A. It’s like an H, except the two lines meet at the top.” 

“Like the one in ‘Sally-Ann’?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“Tha’s nice,” he said, marking the lines on the page. “We got a letter in common.”

“Now there’s an S. That’s the curved one, like the first letter of my name.”

“‘Nother one, huh?” he said, his drawl growing slower and deeper. “Maybe I won’t have ta learn any new ones at’ll.”

She smiled, biting her lip, ignoring his provocative tone. “The simplest way,” she continued, “would be for an I to be next. That’s just one line, up and down. And then the final letter is an L, an up-and-down line connected on the bottom left to a side-to-side line, like the two in the first part of my name.”

“Three letters we got,” he said, making the final marks against the paper. “Tell me, Sally-Ann, is tha’ common? Two people sharin’ tha’ many?”

“I dunno,” she said. “Does seem like a fair number.”

She glanced down at the notebook in his hands, and then up at his face as he stared at the page, his eyes taking in the first sight of his own name written out. 

“Well, that’s it,” she said. “‘Hasil.’”

Even with his face turned down, she could see the corners of his mouth begin to curve upwards, his cheeks soon rounding with an expression of joy and wonder.

“Tha’s it,” he repeated, the tips of his fingers brushing against the printed letters. He looked up at her again, looking at her in a way that no one had ever looked at her, in a way that she was absolutely certain no one else ever would. “Tha’s it,” he said, one last time, and all that she knew as she drew one unsteady breath, the pure emotion from his eyes crashing over her like a wave, was that she never wanted him to look away. 


	9. Peace and Stillness

**Anonymous:**  prompt idea for u. Hasil and Sally Ann have a nap together.

 **Anonymous:**  Firstly, I love everything that you’ve written for Sasil. It’s all so lovely! Do you think you could write a scene where Hasil helps Sally-Ann with her hair? Maybe helping her wash it or style it? He seems so fascinated by her hair and I think it would make for a cute ficlet. 

* * *

 

The third time she yawned, she had tried to hide it, turning her head away, pressing it against her raised shoulder, but he noticed all the same.

The first time had been during their walk up here from the home improvement store; the air was warm and heavy, with almost no breeze, and he had thought it was just a reaction to the change in temperature, as she adjusted to the natural heat of the day after being inside that strange artificial cold for so many hours.

But then, once they had gotten to the house, she yawned again as she stood by the window, waiting for him to follow her inside. She had swiveled away, her hand over her mouth, but he had caught her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall, seen the exhaustion dimming the light within her eyes. He hadn’t said anything, not wanting to cast a shadow over their afternoon -- their only time together in the past five days -- but now, after seeing it for the third time, he couldn’t help but voice his concern.

“Sally-Ann, ya ’ll right?”

She gave him a half-smile, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, as she stretched her legs out along the couch, her bare feet pressing against him. “I worked the late shift last night, down at the convenience store, and then I had to open this morning. I didn’ get much sleep.”

Hasil exhaled softly; this had always been one of the hardest things for him to really understand. It seemed so strange to him that people had these jobs that they just went to -- two of them, in Sally-Ann’s case -- and that you were told when to come and go, and what to do, and in the end, for all that, they gave you a piece of paper with your name on it that was supposedly worth something. But still, it seemed important down here to have a job, to have a thing you could say you did all day, even if it meant you had to spend some your time not really doing much, and then having to think about your job even when you weren’t doing it. Even if it meant that you could be told to work all hours of the day and night, taking you away from the things -- and the people -- you loved.

And when it came to Sally-Ann, the whole thing only made his heart that much more heavy. She worked so much, gave up so much of her time, but it didn’t make her happy. He understood that it was necessary, that it allowed her to have a home and enough to eat, but that didn’t stop him from wishing it could be different.

“If ya’s tired, ya could get som’ sleep now,” he offered.

“Why would I wanna sleep? I was lookin’ forward to spendin’ time together.”

“Don’t know tha’d stop us from spendin’ time t’gether,” he countered. “It’d jus’ be wi’ yer eyes shut... And ya’s tired, I can see it. Ya need som’ rest.”

She seemed unconvinced, so he sat up a little straighter on the couch and beckoned towards her with his fingers. “C’mere...” he said.

“What?” she asked, her voice full of both doubt and curiosity.

“C’mere,” he repeated, patting the top of his thigh with his hand. “Ya jus’ lay down righ’ here.”

“Hasil...” she protested, but then she sighed, warmth flooding into her cheeks as she offered him a tiny shy smile. Turning onto her knees, she made her way towards his end of the couch, and settled herself onto her side, her head resting against his leg. 

“There ya go...” he murmured. 

She shifted a little, turning her head back towards him, and then he could feel her take a breath, her body relaxing against his. His hand seemed to move of its own free will as it reached towards her, as he began to trace his fingers against her hairline. He had never really touched her hair -- it was hard to be sure whether she would like it or not -- but he remembered being a boy and how much he had loved it when his ma played with his hair as he fell asleep. Hers, though... hers was thick and so soft, the tiny hairs whispering gently against his skin. There was an unhurried rhythm to his motions, to the way he touched her, like a spell he didn’t dare to break. 

“Mmmm… that’s nice,” she said, closing her eyes.

“You r’member what I asked ya, ‘bout yer hair, when we firs’ met?”

“I remember,” she replied softly.

“You never tol’ me, how ya get it ta go like this.” 

“It’s nothin’ special, Hasil,” she said. “It’s jus’ in twists.”

He stilled his hand for a moment, letting it cradle the top of her head. 

“Nah… I’s seen girls, up on the mountain, do their hair, curl an’ braid it up all kinds a’ ways. It’s nothin’ like what ya got.”

She smiled and lightly shrugged her shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

“The way ya got it all turn’d an’ coil’d,” he continued, “wrapped ‘round yer head like that, s’like… well, s’like ya’s wearin’ a great crown a’ shinin’ leaves, like ya’s the very top of a tree, the light a’ the sun catchin’ the edges a’ it just so…” He couldn’t help it; he traced his fingertips against her hairline again, marveling at the texture.

She didn’t move or make any kind of expression at all, and it was only after he had caught the rhythm of her shallow, even breathing that he realized she had fallen asleep.

He stopped his hand – it would be a shame to disturb her, when she was so clearly in need of sleep – and he gently lifted his arms and laid them down across the top of the couch. He leaned his head back, letting it rest against the faded upholstery, hearing nothing but the quiet of the room, her breathing, his own heartbeat.

Sitting there, it was so warm and soft and still, the silence suspended in the air like a dust mote in a beam of light. Hasil was fond of moments in the stillness. He guessed she probably was, too, if she ever got any, if she was ever allowed a moment’s rest. Everything down here was always so busy, so full of sound and commotion. It was exciting, of course, full of new things – wonderful things – but there was a reason he always found his way back home. There was peace up there, time, a deliberate slowness, where a whole afternoon could be lost in the pleasure of something without ever being drawn away by the sound of a ring or a beep. This girl laying against him –  _his girl_  – would never admit it, but she needed some of that peace and stillness, if not up on the mountain, then here at least, in this room, this tiny refuge.

He could feel his eyes growing heavy, and even though it had been his intention to stay awake, to watch over her for a time and then rouse her before the afternoon passed them by entirely, the pull of drowsiness was too strong. He took one last look at her before he closed his eyes, her face soft and relaxed, her lips barely parted with her quiet breaths, and then Hasil was lost too, surrendering to the oblivion, hoping he would find her once more when he was at last permitted to dream.


	10. The Light Outside (Up the Mountain, Part 4)

So… this wasn’t one of the ficlet prompts, but I just felt the need to finish up the “Sally-Ann goes up the mountain” story line that I had written about before. Fair warning: this is slightly NSFW, but just slightly – suggestive, but nothing more… :)

* * *

 

The barest hint of light was curling through the interior of the cabin, peeking past the gaps between the wooden walls, visible through the open spaces that gave view to the shadowy wilderness beyond. Birds faintly chirped, calling out to each other in a greeting song, as the world began to come awake.

Sally-Ann blinked her eyes open, trying to remember where she was, and then she felt the warm and solid form underneath her, her gaze slowly turning towards the familiar face of the man who had brought her here. He was still asleep, his features made more boyish in the half-light, his hair in rough disarray across the top of the mattress. She watched him for a little while, enjoying the luxury of being able to look at him unobserved. For once, he was still, a shift from his normal state of expressive animation. His eyelashes were so long, fanning downwards to his cheeks, and even as he slept she could see the shallow diagonal indentations that cut so broadly when he smiled. She lingered far too long on his mouth, on the tiny lines arrayed in parallel down the roundness of his lips. There was a tiny spot near his chin that he had missed while shaving, and she was barely able to restrain herself from shifting against him so she could reach up and touch it. 

His skin was so warm against hers as she lay half-way against him, her head tucked into that hollow where his shoulder met his chest. For a moment she wondered what it would be like in winter, with the cold and the snow raging outside, their bodies cozily nestled within a cocoon of blankets. She knew she shouldn’t think like that; it was foolish, envisioning anything beyond each day they shared together, but still it tempted her, this thing she knew she couldn’t keep but wanted fiercely anyway. His arm was heavy draped around her waist, the fingers of his good hand lightly grazing her skin. She looked over at her own hand, how it partially covered the tattoo on his chest, the prongs of the deer’s antlers just barely jutting out beyond her fingertips. 

All their clothes had come off quickly enough, as they had lost themselves in the excitement of discovering each other. By now, of course, it was more of a re-discovery, but a satisfying and enjoyable one regardless. There had been sense enough to extinguish the two lanterns before they collapsed entirely, worn out not only from their immediate exertions, but from the half-day’s uphill journey it had taken to get here. 

At some point, though, in the darkest point of the night, they had woken and silently found each other, moving quietly, his hands and his mouth giving her every cause to cry out, even though she knew she shouldn’t make a sound. 

Right before she fell asleep for the second time, she had started to think about how all of this – all of her time on the mountain, really – had begun to resemble a dream, one she would soon wake up from, requiring her to return to the sad realities of her life. Even this moment, as they lay together in the early morning quiet, seemed so surreal, as if it existed somewhere beyond the recognizable world. If it was a dream, though, she had no desire to leave it, even as she acknowledged the harsh truth that it would end regardless of her feelings on the matter. 

“Ya ‘bout done?” Even as a low rumble, his voice startled her, a rough intrusion into the quiet. 

“Done?” she asked quietly, glancing up at him. His eyes were still closed.

“Lookin’ a’ me,” he said gently, a corner of his mouth raised in amusement. “But don’ stop. Don’ wan’ ya ta miss nothin’.”

“You…” She stopped, nearly ready to fire off some retort, and instead sighed and pressed her cheek more firmly against his chest, settling her body across the length of his. He said nothing, but curled his arm tight against her waist, his left hand reaching over to clasp her by the shoulder. He was encircling her, pulling her towards him, until it was hard for her to imagine a way that they could get any closer. She didn’t mind, though; as long as he held her, she didn’t have to leave, she didn’t have to wake up. 

Everything was so still, so quiet. The light outside was growing stronger, but even so, she wanted it to stop, for the whole world to stop its spinning, for this moment to stay suspended in time, the way a bird hovers in a draft of air. She could feel his heart beating underneath her palm, a soft rhythm that echoed her own. 

“Sally-Ann...” 

“Hmmm?” she murmured.

“I don’ know...” he half-whispered against her hair. “I jus’... I jus’ wan’ ya ta stay here, wi’ me. I don’t wan’ ya ta go…”

Now that he had said something, given voice to the thoughts she had been turning over in her mind, it was almost as if she felt the need to counter them, to bring both of them back down to reality, if only to make it easier in the long run.

“Hasil...”

“I know, I know... ya gotta… But a man’s got a right ta dream, don’t he?”

That was the thing about Hasil: he was a dreamer. He could afford to be. But she didn’t have that luxury. Sometimes it seemed like the whole world was conspiring to tell her who she was and what she could do, how to act and talk and how to look, and it wasn’t something she was allowed to just ignore.

And the world definitely did not want them together. This thing they had -- this wonderful, surprising, miraculous thing -- she knew it could never last, not with everything that was stacked against it. Maybe it had been doomed from the very start. She could sense, if only faintly, how much it was going to hurt when she had to let him go; perhaps it would be better to do it now, before she fell any deeper.

“Hasil...” she half-whispered, finding it even more difficult than she had anticipated to say the words she knew she had to say. “Maybe after today, you should jus’ stay up here, for a while.”

He shifted, quickly turning his head down towards hers.

“Wha’d ya sayin’? ‘Stay up here’?”

“I jus’...” she stammered. “I jus’ I don’t see how this is gonna work.”

“‘Work’?” he repeated, and with his two good fingers raised her chin up so he could look her directly in the eye. “I’m here and ya’s here, and we’s together. Wha’s gotta work?”

“It ain’t that simple....”

“‘Course it is. We th’ only ones tha’ matter here. Unless...” He paused, his gaze shifting away, no longer meeting hers.

“Unless what?”

“Unless ya no longer reciprocate my sent’ments.”

He didn’t move, but she could see the pain from that idea slicing through his features, and then she saw something in his eyes she had never seen before: fear. It cut through her, too, just the mere thought that he could consider himself alone in his feelings, and she couldn’t bear to have him think it for a moment longer. 

Sally-Ann raised herself up onto her elbows, staring down at him until she finally caught his eye.

“Nothin’s changed, Hasil. I still feel the way I did before.”

He let out a sigh, some of the color returning to his cheeks, and then ran his fingers over the top of his head. 

“Then this is jus’ plain foolishness. All our troubles, they’s nothin’, really. You and me, we’s stronger t’gether. We’s  _happier_ t’gether. And I’ll do wha’ever I can ta make ya see that.”

He spoke so forcefully, with such conviction, it was nearly impossible not to be swayed entirely by his words. He believed so strongly; maybe that was enough, enough to silence her doubts and then carry her through the times that tried her faith in the two of them. She could only hope it would be. So she simply nodded, and laid her head back down against him.  

“We should get goin’ soon,” she said, after a time.

“Yeah, a’right... But let me kiss ya good mornin’ firs’, righ’ proper.”

And then he took her face in his hands, the full light of the morning sun pouring in all around them, and his lips found hers, softly, tenderly, like they had all the time in the world. 


	11. Into the Water (Up the Mountain, Part 5)

**Anonymous** : I've got some prompt ideas if you don't mind. Hasil takes sally ann fishing or teaches her how to swim. Thanks

 **Anonymous** :  Hasil teaches sally ann how to swim 

(Maybe these are from the same Anon, though? It’s hard to tell...)

So I spoke incorrectly before...  _this_ ficlet is actually going to be the last bit of the “Sally-Ann goes up the mountain” story line... it seemed to fit so perfectly with where the narrative was going, so I couldn’t help but add it in. 

* * *

 

The day couldn’t have been more beautiful: warm, but with enough of a breeze to cool their bodies as they made their way down the side of the mountain. She seemed to be finding the climb down easier than the climb up, but still, he kept his eye on her, watching for any sign of fatigue or discomfort. He had been planning on stopping about half-way through, just for a short break, but as they walked an idea began to form in his head, a way to share one last part of his world with her before she went back home.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting everything in gold and shadow, as they followed the path of a shallow ravine. Rocks and stray tree roots jutted out between their feet, but he was cautious, shepherding the two of them slowly and carefully, making sure that they followed the least obstructed path. And within a few minutes, they were close enough that he could hear the sound of the water. It became more insistent, that elemental collision of rock and water, until at last the view opened up and they could look upon the broad expanse of it, the sparkling pool that formed at the bottom of the ravine as it met with a wide, steep formation of earth. The water was clear to the bottom, originating from somewhere deep in the mountain, the light of the sun reflecting off the tiny ripples of the top, so brilliant it was nearly blinding. It didn’t go very deep -- just up to his chest -- but it looked cool and refreshing, especially in the mid-day warmth, and he could feel his pace slightly quickening as they inched towards the waterline. 

“Are we stoppin’?” she asked, as they finally reached the edge. 

“Thought we coul’ use a rest,” he said, sidling up next to her as she looked out over the water. “An’ I wanted ta show ya this.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, turning her face up towards him.

“One a’ my fav’rite places on th’ mountain.” He smiled a little, mostly to himself, remembering all the times he had come here as a boy, laughing and running and wiling away the day in the pleasures of being young and carefree. “We’d come here in th’ summer, all a’ us young’uns, playin’ in th’ water an’ up in th’ trees ‘til it got dark. ‘S where I learned ta swim, an’ ta fish.”

“You can fish here?” 

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at her and smiling, a thought taking rough shape in his mind. “In fact, I coul’ teach ya righ’ now how it’s done.”

“Hasil, I know how to fish,” she countered, crossing her arms over her chest, even as her mouth was curled in amusement. “Plus, you don’t got a pole. How’re you goin’ to fish without that?”

“That ain’t th’ way we fish up here,” he said, a wide grin blossoming across his face. “Here, I’s gon’ show ya.” Turning away from her slightly -- he wasn’t sure why, as she had seen just about every bit of him already -- he pulled his shirt up and over his head and then tossed it on the ground. Shucking off his boots and socks, he then unclasped his belt and unknotted the ties on his kilt, leaving him in nothing but his drawers. And then he dropped those, too. 

Glancing back at her briefly -- and enjoying the slight look of shock appearing on her face -- he waded out into the water, relishing the chilly tendrils as they washed over his skin. There was a spot about two-thirds of the way over where the water was near waist-high, a place where the current flowed between two submerged rocks. Once he found it, he reached down, feeling around for the spot where the water moved more quickly past his fingers. He formed a loose triangle, his thumbs and the first two fingers of his hands just barely touching. The other two fingers of his right hand reached out towards nothing, of course, and it was only then he realized that he hadn’t tried this out since that day with Big Foster and the axe. Pushing that aside -- he wasn’t about to let anything put a damper on his mood today -- he focused instead on the motion of the water, on the tiny fluctuations in its direction, his eyes narrowed in on the space where the current had its origin.

“I don’t see any fish, Hasil,” he heard her say from across the creek. 

“Jus’ you wait,” he replied. “An’ I ain’t sung th’ fishin’ song yet...”

“There’s a song?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah, ya gotta sing it,” he said, not taking his eyes off the ripples of the water. “Or else th’ fish don’t know ta come out.”

He cleared his throat a little; he knew he didn’t have the best voice on the mountain, but this was something that had to be done if he had any hope of catching something big enough to show her. The sound that began to emerge from the back of his throat was gravelly and low, nearly half-choked, and quiet enough so that hopefully she wouldn’t find too much cause to laugh at him.

_“That ol’ jackfish swimmin’ up th’ stream  
An’ I asked that jackfish what did he mean...”_

He knew it must seem strange to her, what he was doing, but he knew the song would work its ways, calling out to the fish as it somehow always did.

_“I grabbed that jackfish by the snout  
An’ took that jackfish th’ wrong side out...”_

The last bit of the song was odd, with words Hasil didn’t really understand, but he knew it was important to get them out correctly. He was still trying to pay attention to the water, though, so they came out of his mouth almost as a whisper, barely set to the melody.

_“Oh lor’ de lor’ gal, sindy, sindy  
Lor’ de lor’, sindy, sue...”_

For a moment, there was nothing, only the gentle press of the current against his fingertips, but then he saw a flash of shadow and movement, felt an imperceptible shift in the fluttering of the water. He waited only the briefest of seconds before clasping his hands together, feeling something solid and cold in between them, and then he raised his prize up, out of the creek, the slippery creature caught between his palms doing its best to escape him. 

His smile flashed wildly as he turned towards her, the fish still flopping about in his grasp, his moment of triumph now complete as he caught her look of total astonishment. He threw the fish back in the water -- he wasn’t going to eat it, so there wasn’t any point in making it suffer any longer -- and then he looked back towards her, cocking his head to the side, beckoning her with his hand. 

“C’mon... now ‘s yur turn...”

“Hasil, I’m not comin’ out there,” she protested. “I’m not gettin’ my clothes wet.”

“Then take ‘em off,” he replied. “Ya can at leas’ wear those underthings ya got on.”

She seemed to consider this for a moment, all sorts of thoughts seemingly running through her head as she stood on the waterline.

“Is there anybody else out here? Anyone but the two of us?”

“Nah,” he answered, knowing for a fact that there was little chance anyone would come upon them. One of his Shay cousins had run the gauntlet two days ago and today most of the clan was gathering to help build the new couple a cabin. It would take all of the morning and most of the afternoon to finish it, leaving little time for anyone to take a trip down to the creek. 

“Uh, okay,” she said, as she pulled off her shirt and then unzipped the front of her shorts. 

Hasil had seen Sally-Ann in various states of undress, of course, and on a number of occasions wearing nothing at all. Still, it never ceased to astonish him, her skin, the curves of her body -- all of her, really -- and knowing that she allowed him touch her, that she seemed to like it... well, he could never quite push past how miraculous it all was to him. 

She carefully made her way into the water, her feet looking for purchase along the slippery surface, until she finally reached him, the water reaching to her ribcage. 

“It’s cold,” she murmured.

“C’mere, then,” he said, pulling his arms around her. There were goosebumps across her forearms and along the tops of her shoulders, and all he could think to do was rub his hands against her skin, in the hopes of warming her up. 

“Ya ready, now?” he asked, catching her gaze and offering her an expectant smile. “Time fer yer firs’ fishin’ less’n on th’ mountain. Ya r’member th’ song?”

“Mmmm-mmm,” she said, shaking her head.

He leaned over, his lips barely grazing her ear.  _“Oh lor’ de lor’ gal,”_  he whispered in a half-song, his breath soft against her neck. “ _Lor’ de lor’...”_  She pressed closer against him, her skin warm and flushed against his own, the chill from the water apparently all but forgotten. 


	12. The Big City

**Prompt:** Sasil in the big city! 

_So, I love fish-out-of-water stories! (And Hasil’s already a fish-out-of-water, so this’ll be fun!) This ask had been in my inbox for a while and I’m so glad I waited on it… it fits perfectly with the narrative of the show following Episode 9. And a quick shout-out to[amatterofluck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amatterofluck) for her advice on Farrell birthdays._

* * *

 

The tunnel opened up into a kaleidoscope of lights that seemed to pierce straight up into the night sky, and it was all Sally-Ann could do not to gape widely out the window as she watched it all sweep past her. Everything was so tall, so enveloping, like being inside a canyon made of steel and illuminated glass; it was hard not to feel a little insignificant in the midst of it all.

She looked over at Hasil, wondering what his reaction would be. So far, he had seemed to be taking everything in stride – the many hours they had spent on the bus, the confusion of having to transfer twice, the overcrowded and chaotic rest stop somewhere in New Jersey – but she wasn’t sure he would do as well now that they were actually in the city. She wasn’t even sure that  _she_ was going to do that well in this huge and overwhelming place. His expression, though, wasn’t all that different from how it had looked during the trip up here, with his eyes wide and intensely curious, the occasional moment of confusion causing his brow to knit together, and punctuations of excitement as he pointed something out to her, a smile lighting up his face. 

For most of the ride, he had been more than content to stare out the window – she had let him take the seat closest to it – and have her nestle against him as she shared the view and slept for a time. To make it all go by faster, she had pulled out her phone and they had shared a pair of earbuds; most of West Virginia had rushed by as she played her Katy Perry and Beyoncé for him. She had even ended up dipping into some of her older stuff, like Nina Simone and Ray Charles, music that somehow always reminded her of her momma, even after all these years.  

It still seemed so unreal that they were doing this – travelling all this way, to visit a place she had only seen in movies and on TV – and she could feel her heart turning little circles inside her chest in anticipation. When she had thought of it, though, it had seemed to make so much sense: they had some money now, so they could afford it, and so much was happening in town that getting out of there for a little while had just seemed like a smart idea. She had thought back to what his cousin had told her, how he had asked her to look out for Hasil. And then she had remembered Hasil’s face and his reluctant admission that her own brother had been the one responsible for the damage. Maybe, she had reasoned to herself, the best place to keep both of them safe was far away from here. So she had bought the bus tickets online, found them a cheap place to stay for a few days, and packed a small duffel bag with some clothes. They had left around midnight, travelling the next day and into the evening, and now they were finally here, in this place all lit up like a permanent Christmas tree, where everything seemed to be moving so quickly, and all at once. 

Once off the bus, she let Hasil grab her bag while she gazed a little longer at all the people filling up the sidewalks, at all the buildings and the shops, the mass of cars honking their way down the street. Eventually, they were able to find the closest subway station, but for once Sally-Ann was scared that they might get completely lost, adrift in the dizzying array of routes and stops displayed on the map just inside the entrance. It shouldn’t have surprised her, though, that Hasil was somehow able to navigate them through it and get them safely to their destination, his tracker’s sense of direction clearly at work, even as he was still unable to actually read the names of the stations. 

At their tiny hotel, they planned their itinerary for the next few days; Sally-Ann had a few landmarks she wanted to visit -- mostly ones she had pulled from tourist sites on the internet -- but she thought maybe they could spend some time just walking around, getting a sense of the neighborhoods. Hasil was happy, as always, to follow her lead, and he readily agreed to her suggestions.

The follwing days were something of a blur as they explored the city, walking through Times Square and down the Brooklyn Bridge, staring up at the Empire State Building and across the river at the Statue of Liberty. They had gone to a deli on the Lower East Side and ordered pastrami sandwiches and she had even bought them both hot dogs from a street vendor that they ate while walking around Washington Square Park. Sally-Ann had been a little worried that Hasil would stick out in the crowd, just like he did at home, but when they were downtown she saw a fair number of men with long hair like his, sometimes knotted up in a bun on the top of their heads, and at least two wearing kilts. She had smiled and pointed it out to him, and he had laughed with her, joking about how some of his cousins must have gotten loose and made their way to the big city. 

As exciting and new as it all was, it was still pretty overwhelming. The city never seemed to get quiet and some part of her missed the calm and slowness of home. Even Hasil, for all his delight in discovering new things, seemed to be getting more and more exhausted by it. He slept like the dead -- once they finally got to sleep -- and by the third day she could sense a substantial depletion in his normal reserve of boundless energy.

“Hasil, how’re you doin’?” she had finally asked, slipping her fingers into his as they strolled down the sidewalk alongside a wide sweeping avenue, a herd of yellow taxicabs rushing past them. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” he had said, looking down at her and smiling as he gave her hand a little squeeze. “‘S jus’... well...” He exhaled, and scuffed the sole of his boot against the concrete. “I don’ know how people live here, is all, withou’ really seein’ much a’ anythin’ green.”

She realized then what she needed to do for him, how she might be able to bring him a little piece of home while they were here. So they had bought some lunch and made their way west, finally crossing over into a grassy area with shaded paths, great leafy trees dotting the landscape. There were plenty of people out, walking along just like them, or on bicycles, and even some sitting on the lawn, taking in the mid-day sun. She kept their pace deliberate, though, letting him taking in all the sights and sounds of nature, all the birds singing to one another, the warm summer breeze whistling through the trees. There was a light in his eyes again, a smile growing wider and wider as they made their way further into the massive park, and by the time they finally found a spot to stop and eat their food, he looked just about the happiest she had seen him the whole time they had been here. 

They had no particular plans for the afternoon, so once they had eaten, it just seemed natural that they would stay for a while, laying out on the grass, Hasil’s head resting on her stomach as she played with his hair. It was all so peaceful, so perfect. 

From nearby, Sally-Ann heard a child’s soft squeal, and she glanced over, her gaze catching on the dozen or so children about fifty feet away who were in the middle of celebrating a birthday. There was food laid out from picnic baskets and a few wrapped presents, alongside a decorated cake with pale pink frosting. She smiled, thinking about what a wonderful birthday that would have made, and then she looked back down at Hasil, a thought suddenly springing to her mind.

“Hasil,” she murmured. “When’s your birthday? Do you know?” She wasn’t sure how well they kept calendars up there, or even if they even used the same one as everyone else.

“The day I’s born?” he asked. “Not sure a’ th’ partic’lar day, but my namin’ day -- the day I’s given a name, made part a’ th’ clan -- was a few days later, in mid-summer, at th’ second full moon a’ th’ season.”

“So... did we pass it already?” 

“‘Bout six or seven days ago,” he said, turning his head to face her. “Why?”

“You didn’t get to celebrate it...”

“Aw, I don’ need no celebration, Sally-Ann.”

“Still...” she said, her thumb straying absently against the tiny hairs in front of his ear. “What if we pretend it’s today?”

“Tha’ today’s my birthday?”

“Yeah,” she said, a smile forming across her lips.

“Fine by me,” he said. “Prob’ly th’ best one I ever had.” And then he smiled back at her, making her whole heart feel like it was going to overflow with the sensations of warmth and light expanding through it. 

She felt a little dizzy, even as she was laying on the ground, and all she could think to do was to take a few steady breaths; she didn’t want to look away, though, didn’t want to stop her eyes from taking their fill of him, a thirst that never seemed to slake no matter how many times it was satisfied.

“Happy birthday, Hasil,” she whispered, the words so simple, but somehow meaning everything.


	13. Reasons

**Prompt:**  Another potential ficlet prompt to keep our minds busy during the DRAMA: another person at work asks Sally Ann if she has a boyfriend, and this time she has an answer. Heh. 

_So now that Hasil and Sally-Ann’s plot line has started moving again in the show, I should probably explain that most of the ficlets are set in some vague, undefined Sasil universe where they’re together (and keeping their relationship secret) but where Sally-Ann still works... maybe the universe that exists between Episode 5 and Episode 6? Anyway, now that we’ve got that cleared up, on to the actual story..._  :)

* * *

 

The scanner chirped again and again, the friendly and persistent electronic trill only serving to enhance her already high level of irritation and fatigue. She scanned everything that came across her register: weed killer, pool toys, bird seed, drain cleaner, power tools, and even the occasional replacement toilet seat. Everything was scanned and priced and tabulated, paid for with cash, credit card, personal check, or money order, and then she would turn and smile at the next face in the line, a line that, on a busy day like today, never seemed to stop. 

Sally-Ann looked up from her scanning, her eyes distractedly glancing at the length of the line, as her attention caught on one customer in particular. She tried not to sigh or roll her eyes in frustration. _Of course_ , she thought,  _of course he would pick today, pick this afternoon, to come by._  And of course he would pick her lane to stand in, even though there were other lines, shorter ones. She glanced back behind her at Jacqui, who was working the next register over, and even after the older woman recognized what Sally-Ann was silently indicating to her, all she really could offer was a tiny shrug of sympathy.

As with all dreaded moments, time moved much more rapidly than she would have preferred, and soon enough he was ambling up towards the counter, dropping a dozen or so boxes of metal hardware down onto its surface.

“And how are ya doin’ this afternoon, Miss Sally-Ann?” he asked, a dimpled grin spreading across the bottom half of his face. Sweat beaded along the sides of his neck, even in the air conditioned store. 

“I’m fine, J.T. How are you?” She smiled, but only politely, only enough that there could be no cause for official complaint.

“Oh, I’m jus’ fine. Righter than rain...” he replied, chortling a little at his own words. 

“You find everythin’ okay?” she asked, deliberately looking down at the box of 2” nails she was attempting to scan, rather than meeting his gaze.  

“I did, indeed... and, I must say, you are lookin’ particularly fetchin’ today.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, as she dropped the box into a plastic store bag. 

“Y’know...” he said, planting his hands on the counter, “I always come in here and I always ask ya the same question...” He turned his head imploringly, as if he wanted her to be the one to say it out loud. She wasn’t about to do that, though, and she was cringing with the knowledge that he was going to say it for her anyway. “C’mon... when ya gonna go out with me, Sally-Ann?”

She looked up at his face, all pink and pasty, his dull brown hair falling part-way into his eyes. At first she said nothing, even though she knew full well what going out with J.T. would involve. More likely than not, she would spend the evening sitting next to him on a bar stool at Tony’s, watching him toss back bottles of Bud Light for a couple hours as he yelled at the NASCAR race playing on the bar’s single TV. All in all, she would be lucky if he didn’t try to drunkenly grope her as she came out of the bathroom. 

But with guys like that, you couldn’t just say no. You had to come up with reasons. And most of the time, they didn’t really care about your reasons, seeing your rejection as simply the first step in a long process of negotiation. 

Still, you had to give your reasons all the same. 

“J.T., you know I can’t go out,” she said, trying to make her voice as business-like as possible, as she grabbed another box of hardware and continued scanning his merchandise. “I’m busy. I’m workin’.”  

“Yeah, y’always say that...” Suddenly, though, his eyes widened with some realization. “Well, how ‘bout the Fourth of July, then? It’s just in a few days. Nobody’s workin’ then.” 

“I can’t,” she said quickly, without really knowing what she was doing; her only thought had been to try to make this conversation be over as soon as possible. 

“Why not, huh?” he asked. “What’re ya doin’?”

“Well, um...” she stammered, trying to think of something to say. And then, for some unfathomable reason, she told him the truth. “I’m gonna be with my boyfriend. We’ve got plans.”

The moment she said it, part of her regretted it. This was a small town and people talked, and it wasn’t hard to imagine a scenario where her brother somehow heard about it, or an even worse version of it. Plus, she and Hasil didn’t even have real plans, just some loose arrangements that involved them meeting up at the house in the afternoon.  

“Boyfriend?” J.T. sputtered. “What boyfriend?”

“Look, I just...” She paused, letting out a little sigh. “I got a boyfriend, okay?”

“Really?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What’s he do?”

“He’s... he’s in sales. Sells all kinds of things.” It was strange; once she started talking, it was almost as if she couldn’t stop. “Mostly things he makes, like wood carvings. He’s an artist, too.”

“So how come I never met ‘im? Where’s he live?”

“Up in the hills,” she replied. “In a cabin. He hunts and traps up there. That’s why he doesn’t come into town that often...” She tilted her head slightly, as if challenging him to question her again. “Anyway, he and I, we got plans.”

Turning back towards her register, she pressed her fingers to the screen in order to finalize his purchase.

“That’ll be thirty-nine twenty,” she said sweetly.

“Hmmm... well...” J.T. said, slapping two twenty-dollar bills on the counter. “You enjoy yourself, then.”

And then he reached over and grabbed his plastic bag from the metal rack and began walking straight towards the doors, not looking back at her once. 

After that, it took a little while for the mid-day crowd to thin, but as she greeted customers and rang up all their purchases, a tiny smile refused to budge from her face. She was thinking about Hasil Farrell and the Fourth of July and all the things she could show him. She was thinking about how much he would love hamburgers and homemade apple pie. She was thinking about how they could sneak down towards the bridge and watch the town’s tiny fireworks show light up the night sky and the water below. 

Eventually, the line disappeared, and Sally-Ann leaned back against her register, squeezing and flexing her tired feet inside her shoes. She glanced over at Jacqui, who was looking back at her with a small enigmatic smile.

“Honey... that was great, with J.T...” Jacqui said. “You held him right off...” And then she grinned, a breathy, tired laugh escaping from her lips, as she raised her eyebrows at Sally-Ann in amusement. “I almost believed you.”

And then Sally-Ann laughed, too, happy in the sweet anticipation of seeing him, happy in the knowledge that her secret would probably be safe for a little while longer. 


	14. New Wonders

**Prompt:** here's a fic idea. Hasil and Sally ann meet but as small children and make friends with eachother

* * *

No one noticed the boy. 

He was small, even at ten winters, and with no ma or fa around to be attuned to his absence, it wasn’t hard for him to slip down quietly to where the truck was parked and hide himself under the tarp that lay scuttled across its bed. They were going on a run, he had heard, a trip down the mountain for necessary supplies: gasoline, to keep the generators and the ATVs running; farming tools, replacing the ones that had broken during the summer reaping; maybe even some new shoes, if they could be found. Everyone was talking about it, and of course the boy listened, in the unassuming, observant way he did, soaking in everything he could hear about life down below. He heard all the bad things, too – all the warnings about people with no kith or kin, left to live and die alone on the streets, all the distrust and the fear, all the strangers who’d just as soon shoot at you as ask your name – but it was hard to believe all that, hard to believe any place could be so terrible and heartless. 

He had to see it, with his own eyes. Then he’d know. 

In the truck bed, he shivered a little, partially out of fear, but mostly from excitement. He only had to wait a short while until the voices surrounded him; Big Foster’s growl mostly crowded out the others’, but right beside it was the deep murmur of his son, a hulking bear of a man at just eighteen winters. The boy inched himself smaller as one of them hurled himself into the back of the truck – the other three soon occupying the front cab – and then the engine caught, the motor gurgling and sputtering to life. 

The ride down was something terrible: his teeth seemed to rattle out of his head as he shook and bounced around in the truck bed. He was sure he was about to die, or get caught, and he couldn’t decide which was worse. But he kept quiet the whole way down, all the torturous hours of it, until he felt a road pass smoothly under the tires, and he knew they were close. The person with him in back scrambled up and pounded twice on the roof of the cab, letting out a barking “Ged-ged-yah!” for good measure, and the boy could hear the squeal of the tires as the truck picked up its pace. 

They meandered for a time, making quick stops and turning in various directions. He could hear the sounds of other vehicles passing around them, the exhaust and the scrape of gravel on the road. The clean smell of the mountain was fading, the air turning heavier, tinged with something stale and metallic, all of it catching in the back of his throat and making him want to cough. He swallowed roughly, and tried to breathe a little through his shirt. 

Eventually, the truck swung right and then right again, coming to an abrupt halt. He felt the engine die, and everyone piled out, the chaotic sounds of truck doors slamming and men yelling excitedly soon fading into quiet. The boy waited a moment and then lifted the tarp an inch or two, peeking beyond its edge, and, after seeing no remaining sign of his companions, emerged from under it entirely. 

The truck was parked in some kind of wide open space, white lines painted along its surface, other vehicles situated neatly around each other. Looking behind him, he could see a road lining one side of the space, the occasional vehicle passing by in either direction. But in front of him, there was something to make him stare out in wonder. It was a building, one bigger than he had ever seen, with flat stone walls that reached up nearly thirty feet, an overhanging porch that partially hid a set of wide glass doors that, strangely enough, appeared to have no handles. Across the front of the building were markings, bright and red, a collection of curved and straight lines that had to mean something, he knew, even if they were an utter mystery to him. 

The boy jumped down onto the ground, his knees slightly wobbling at the impact with the hard surface. He didn’t have that much time – it wouldn’t take them all that long to take what they’d come for – but he intended to have more than just a momentary glimpse before he was forced to hide himself again.

He walked up towards the front of the building, wondering what such an astonishing place could possibly contain, but he found it difficult to see inside, the glass offering little but a harsh reflection of the wide space where he now stood. Near the doors, though, there was something that caught his attention: a strange contraption, a little shorter than him, some kind of bizarre and artificial animal painted an unnatural shade of green. And sitting across its back, even though it was neither alive nor in motion, was a girl. 

The boy couldn’t have known, of course, why she was there. He couldn’t have known that her mother had left her there, outside on her own, to play on the back of the mechanical horse while she had gone inside the store to buy cigarettes and a fifth of Dewar’s. He couldn’t have known that the girl had kept quiet the entire walk down to the store, even though in her six-year-old heart she had hoped for two quarters to make the horse run and leap underneath her tiny body. He couldn’t have known how the morning had begun, with sharp yelling and tears, as her mother had impatiently attempted to tame her unruly hair, spending nearly two hours combing it and twisting the sections, then securing the holds with the girl’s favorite pink and red ball-bands. At some point, though, the girl must have squirmed too much, or yelped too loudly as she sat between her mother’s knees, because she felt the sting as the flat of the brush smacked against the top of her arms, her bare thigh, and her bottom as she scrambled away. He couldn't have known that six months from now, her mother would pack two suitcases and drive off in the middle of the day, leaving the girl in the custody of her unprepared sixteen-year-old brother, all for a man who wanted her to move with him back to his hometown across the Ohio border but who had no interest in playing daddy to her children. 

The boy couldn’t have known these things. How could he? They were strangers to one another. 

At first, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He had never seen anything like her before, having had nothing in his short experience of life to prepare him for the idea that other people had skin a different color than his own. It was absolutely astonishing. But even in the newness, he could see the wonder and the beauty in it, and he could now begin to understand that the world might contain so much more, that it might be made up of all kinds of things he could have never even imagined.  

He slowly came closer, passing under the overhanging edge of the building and into the shade of the porch, never taking his eyes off her. He didn’t want to scare her none: she was just a little thing, not much bigger than some of the smaller children he played with at home. She was looking at him, too, still as a startled doe, her eyes tinged with wariness and a fair measure of curiosity.

“Hi,” she said, her voice surprisingly loud for a girl so small.

“Hi,” he replied. He didn’t really know what else to say; he hadn’t thought she would actually try to talk to him.

“You want a turn?” she asked.

At first, he couldn’t figure out what she was talking about, and then it dawned on him that she was referring to the motionless animal figure underneath her.

“Nah,” he said, “’s better ya should stay up there.”

“Okay,” she pronounced, her bare legs now kicking back and forth against the animal’s sides. 

Inside the building, he started to hear some kind of commotion: raised voices, perhaps even the sound of Big Foster bellowing. He knew he didn’t have much time left before they emerged back outside, before his brief foray in the world below the mountain was over. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, things about herself and this building, and everything down here. And now, more than likely, he would never see her again.  

“Hey...” he said to the girl. “A bunch a’ men are ‘bout ta come runnin’ outta here. Ya gotta stay still an’ quiet, okay? Don’t move none.”

She nodded, her eyes turning wide and serious. Her legs stilled, and she tucked them in tightly. 

“Alright, then,” he said. “Bye.” 

The boy trotted back towards the truck and then hoisted himself into the back, giving her one last look as he grabbed the tarp. She was so small, sitting on top of that green creature, so tiny in the shadows, but she was waving at him, waving her goodbye. 

So before he crouched down to hide, before he began to ready himself for the long trek back to his home up on the mountain, he waved back at her, his mind now bursting with thoughts, racing with the power and possibility of all these new wonders. 


	15. A Shower Upstairs

**Prompt:** But anyway maybe a ficlet about Hasil's first shower and Sally-Ann having to show him how everything works. It doesn't have to be in NSFW but I guess you can take it there if you want.

* * *

 

“Hasil, you want me to wash this shirt for you?” she yelled into the kitchen.

Sally Ann already had two shirts of her own to wash, along with several pairs of underwear, but she had seen his black tank top on the floor and wondered if maybe she should add it to her pile. The moment she picked it up, though, she knew for sure: there was still dried blood all over the front of it, and it was clear he had been wearing it for some time, stained as it was with sweat and dirt and who knows what else. Normally she loved the way Hasil smelled – sweet and smoky, like a wood fire on a cold night – but his shirt was a different story, and she wrinkled her nose a little at its pungency as she stuffed it into the pile of clothes she held in her arms.

“Hmmm?” he asked, emerging into the living room, dressed only in his long underwear. Hasil didn’t seem to mind walking around the house with no clothes on – in fact, there were times he appeared to prefer it – but he also seemed to sense that she would like it if he at least wore  _something_ , and on this, as with so many other things, he was more than willing to make her happy. 

“I’m gonna wash your shirt,” she said, grinning cheekily. “It’s filthy.”

“Fine by me,” he replied, and then leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thank ya.” 

As if suddenly reminded of something, Hasil stretched his arm up in the air and turned his head so he could quickly sniff beneath it.

“May not be th’ only thing ta wash...” he said, looking a little bashful as he turned back towards her. “There ain’t no creek nearby, huh?”

“No, no creek,” she replied, her mind now spinning with delightful images of Hasil wearing absolutely nothing as he splashed around in some backwoods watering hole. “But I think there’s a shower upstairs...”

“Shower? 's rainin’?”

“No, it’s, uh...” She stopped, unable to contain the grin spreading across her face. “Here, c’mon...” And then she took his hand, tugging him across the living room and up the wooden staircase. 

The upstairs bathroom was beautifully old-fashioned – all white tile and chrome fixtures, even if it was all in need of a thorough scrub-down – and along one side there was a large claw-footed bathtub. At some point, though, for the sake of modern convenience, someone had added a freestanding showerhead and a curtain on a looped rod.

She pulled the curtain back and turned the faucet on; it gurgled a little, probably out of disuse, but quickly enough began to pour out a steady stream of water.

“How hot d’you want it?” she asked, turning back towards him as she tested the water with her fingertips.

“Hot?” he repeated, his face a picture of confusion. 

“Right,” she said, laughing a little to herself. If he hadn’t known what a shower was, she realized, he probably wouldn’t have known that you could turn it to whatever temperature you wanted. “So, um, I’ll make it mostly warm...” That seemed safe enough, she reasoned: there was no need to traumatize him with scalding hot water. 

After adjusting the dials, she pulled the curtain back in place, making sure it was fully tucked inside the rim of the tub, and then she turned the handle and watched as water began to flow upwards and out of the showerhead.

She turned back towards Hasil again, his head now tilted in unabashed curiosity.

“It’s all yours,” she said. Glancing past him, she noticed an unused bar of soap sitting near the sink on top of the counter, and she leaned over to grab it, quickly handing it over to him. “Here... you might want this...” Soap in hand, he stepped towards the shower, momentarily peering behind the thin curtain.

The spray of water was spattering softly against the back of the curtain and she could feel the small room growing warmer as the steam billowed in the air. It got even warmer as he dropped his drawers, giving her a sight of his magnificent bare backside, and then stepped into the tub, tugging the curtain part-way closed behind him.

“Ah, swee’ mercy,” she heard him gasp and cry out. For a moment, she thought he was in pain, as the water came into contact with his fresh bruises, but then she caught the faint line of his shadow against the white curtain, his body turning in place as he sought to fully immerse himself under the spray.

Sally Ann stayed for a minute, simply enjoying the sound of him experiencing the pleasure of a warm shower for the first time, but then she decided it might be best to just leave him to it. Downstairs, she set herself to tidying a little, straightening up the living room and bringing used dishes into the kitchen. There was, of course, the pile of clothes she had been intending to wash, so she left them at the bottom of the stairs with the intention of bringing them up to the bathtub to wash once he was finished. There was no washing machine in the house, unfortunately; Naomi had always taken her clothes to the laundromat, which was where she and Sally Ann had spent most of their time together outside of church. Sally Ann had sometimes helped with the folding, the older woman’s hands being so frequently swollen with arthritis, and she recalled the smooth feel of her flat sateen sheets, the fluffy towels still warm from the spin of the dryer.

With a sudden realization, she headed back upstairs and opened up the linen closet in the hallway. All the towels were neatly folded and stacked on narrow shelves, leaving nothing, she now recalled, inside the bathroom except a tiny, worn hand towel near the sink. Knowing Hasil, he probably wouldn’t think twice before using it to dry himself off.

Luckily, the shower was still running, so she grabbed one of the larger towels and went back inside the bathroom, intending simply to leave it on top of the toilet and let him take his time.

“Sally Ann, that you?” he asked over the sound of the water.

“Yeah,” she said. “I was just leavin’ you a towel.”

“Alright,” he replied. “So...uh, how ya turn this thing off, exac’ly?”

“Oh, uh, here,” she said, as she reached in and turned the faucet off entirely. The remaining water spilled into the tub as he pulled the curtain back, revealing a very clean and very naked Hasil Farrell. His skin was pink and flushed with the warmth of the water, the bruises and tattoos arrayed across his chest standing out in stark relief. She was so used to seeing his hair flowing in loose waves across his shoulders that to see it now, wet and flat against his head and straight down his back, brought a peculiar feeling to the bottom of her stomach, and perhaps even somewhere a little lower down. His eyes were half-hooded, his gaze gentle and hard and full of hunger as he looked down at her. For a moment, she let her eyes drop past his chest, and then she raised them back quickly, feeling her cheeks grow round and warm.

“So... how was it?” she asked, handing the towel over to him. 

“‘s fine... very fine.” He smiled as he stepped out of the tub, taking a minute to dry himself off and squeeze out the ends of his hair. He was wrapping the towel around his waist as he looked over at her again. “Thought maybe I migh’ convince ya ta join me nex’ time.”

“Maybe,” she said, moving her hand up so she could trace her fingers against the damp skin above his heart.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, pressing his hand flat against hers and keeping it in place. He leaned down towards her, his lips a shadow across her cheek, her jaw, the quiet sanctuary of her neck. In her chest, she could feel her heart thrumming, fluttering in anticipation. “I’ma hold ya ta that,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes, breathing him in, as soft and clean and new as the morning light.


	16. A Tiny Flame

**Prompt:** I'd love it if you were to write a fic from Hasil's point of view after the run to the store and the events leading up to him deciding to come back down the mountain to see Sally Ann again.

* * *

 

The fire was warm against his legs, bright tendrils turning and coiling themselves against the enveloping darkness, leaving only sparks and thin veils of smoke rising up towards the stars.

Hasil could hear the sounds of the Firstnight celebration, going strong even this long into the night, all the music and the singing and the clapping and the yelling, the unmistakable combination of delighted squeals soon followed by grunts of exertion.

His mind had been too crowded, though, to share properly in the festivities.

Much of him had been relieved that Lady Ray had denied the staff to Big Foster, as everyone had thought would happen, but her refusal had been paired with words of dire warning, tales of prophecy and demons, and even though he took less stock in such notions than others did, he knew that what she spoke of foretold rough and troubled times ahead. And then there was the other matter, the one that refused to be dislodged from his waking thoughts and seemed more than content to occupy his dreams as well. For three nights, he had stared restlessly at the roof of his cabin, hearing the continuous drone of crickets and cicadas, and even when he closed his eyes, he still could see a face, a smile, held fast within his gaze. Still, it was difficult to be too bothered by it; there were always far less lovely things that could be occupying his thoughts.

Wandering through the celebration, he had taken a jug of wine from Krake’s outstretched hand when the older man offered it to him, but within a minute or two Hasil had found a cousin who seemed more than pleased to relieve him of it. He had never been very fond of drinking over-much, and especially tonight, when so many things seemed to cry out for his attention, he wanted to keep his wits about him. He had also noticed – among the clans, at least – that most people had a tendency to talk when they drank, revealing all sorts of interesting things that they often forgot about afterwards but that Hasil always made a point of remembering.  

Away from the blast of the bonfire, away from the crowds, he had found himself in the clearing in front of Little Foster and G’win’s cabin and, thinking of no other place he’d prefer to be at the moment, dropped himself down into one of the chairs surrounding the small fire pit. There was a faint chill in the air – even in the middle of summer, nights on the mountain could make you forget the swelter of the day – so he had pulled the plastic lighter from his pocket and leaned down to touch the tiny flame to the dry kindling.

It was a bright purple thing, thin and flat within the palm of his hand, the only thing he had taken during the run. He still couldn’t quite understand what had compelled him to do it – he hadn’t intended to take anything at all – but it had flashed in his view as he had turned away from the counter and his hand had impulsively reached out and snatched it in its grasp. Lighters were always useful, of course, even if they never lasted very long, but there was a part of him, he knew, that had wanted something to remember that moment, to remind himself that it was real, that she was real, that there was a girl named Sally Ann who worked in store down the mountain and that he had he had talked to her, if only for a brief while.

He had seen women down there before – it wasn’t his first trip into town – but he had been totally unprepared for her, and now he found himself unable to focus on much else at all.

It was just supposed to be a quick run for yeast, the four of them intending to be in and out before anyone could take much stock of what was happening. Hasil, as always, was meant to be their look-see, keeping watch over the workers at the front of the store and making sure everyone stayed calm while his cousins took care of business. It made sense: he was younger, smaller, and had a way with words that seemed to assist in smoothing over some of the agitation that their arrival often produced. He found it often helped to ask for names; saying someone’s name made them look at you – and away from other things that might be going on – and it had a way of soothing people, if you said it just the right way. In the end, though, it didn’t always matter that much: most people tended to be frightened regardless, cowering a little and turning quiet as he spoke to them, staring out at him with white and widened eyes.

But when she had looked at him, it was almost as if she had really and truly seen him. There was a light there, in her eyes, in her face, pouring out of every square inch of her, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away, not even for an instant. She had no fear in her gaze as she answered his questions, only the bright sheen of curiosity and wonder, as if by some miracle she had never heard the tales he knew they all told about his clan. And she was so beautiful, everything about her so astonishingly new and different and wondrous, that he had half-wondered if perhaps he was dreaming her up entirely.

The carved bird in his pocket had been the only gift he thought fit enough to offer her.

He had pointed at the tag on her breast – desperate to know her name and, for the first time in his life, ashamed that he was unable to read it for himself – and she had told him, smiling so sweetly at his compliment that he knew he would do whatever he could to keep her looking like that. Words had spilled out of him, like water gushing from a spring, and he knew he had to look a fool, going on like that, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her, standing there, staring right back at him.

And then it was over – Big Foster’s demand intruding on their reverie – and all he had was one final glimpse of her, their gazes locking briefly as he rushed by on the back of his growling ATV.

And since that moment, Hasil found his thoughts returning to her again and again, her name a silent whisper on his lips, and even though it was reckless beyond all understanding, he knew he had to see her again. She wasn’t like any woman he had ever known – and he had known a fair number, finding great, if temporary, pleasure in their company – nor could he find the words to describe the mysterious power her memory seemed to have over him. There was the chance, however, that she was already spoken for, and he cursed himself for not waiting to hear her response to his final question. He knew it shouldn’t surprise him if she were – how could any man look at her and not want her to be his? – but he hoped that there was no one else who she smiled like that for, no one else who might possibly have claimed her heart.

Hasil leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow against his cheeks. He knew that going down the mountain alone, on foot – and without permission – was immensely dangerous. If he were caught, there was no telling what the punishment might be: he could just as easily be thrown inside the box like that lostie Asa sitting out there, or even banished entirely. But he couldn’t live like this, knowing she was down there and not being able to do anything about it; just three days of it had been torture enough.

“Ya’ll right ther’, cuz?“ a low rumbling voice called to him from just beyond the clearing. Hasil glanced up to see the hulking form of Little Foster, his hand clasped in G’win’s as she followed right behind. “Ya look a li’l los’ in thought.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Hasil replied, clearing his throat. “I jus’ needed a bit a’ quiet, is all.”

“Can we join ya?” G’win asked.

“‘Course,” he said, offering them a small grin. “Don’ need my permission ta sit in fron’ a’ yer own place.”

The three of them talked easily, casually, about nothing in particular – no one mentioned the events of earlier that evening with Lady Ray and the prophecy – but as the hour wore on, a few more cousins began to migrate from the celebration over to their fire, including Bhradain and finally Big Foster himself. Hasil could feel himself getting quieter, not wanting to get drawn into whatever wine-fueled quarrel was about to take place. Out of some strange impulse, though, he reached for his knife, at first just wanting the weight of it in his hands, but then he began to toss it around in his grip, feeling the sharp of the blade against his skin.

Soon enough, Big Foster had taken control over the conversation, the wine having loosened his tongue enough to speak out loud his plans to betray the Bren’in. Hasil said nothing – merely sat and listened, as was his way – knowing that any protest on his part would undoubtedly be met with swift retribution from Big Foster. And G’win, thankfully, was saying her piece in opposition.

Briefly, Hasil looked around the circle, at all the strained and clouded faces of his cousins. He realized that for at least the next day or two, this tension would serve only to distract them, and if they were distracted, none of them would think to go looking for him. He could slip away, off the mountain, and no one would know.

And by this time tomorrow, he could be near her again, hear her voice, transform the memory of her that lived inside his heart into something real, something he could feel on his fingertips, like a tiny flame.


	17. The Warm Embrace of the Water

_So this wasn’t one of the prompts, but to tell the truth, I never got over the image of Sally Ann and Hasil[in the bathtub](http://lafiametta.tumblr.com/post/140476038882/wouldnt-it-be-fun-to-see-sasil-be-frisky-and-in) and then there was [lilithenalthum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithenaltum/pseuds/lilithenaltum)'s amazing [Sally-Ann-kissing-Hasil's-tattoos idea](http://lilithenaltum.tumblr.com/post/142379127967/i-want-someone-to-write-sally-ann-kissimg-on) and then it was like these two characters just came to life and started acting out this scene in front of me… seriously, I couldn’t stop them…_  :)   _And that’s partly why it’s so long – apologies! Also, here’s a great[article](http://www.fastcocreate.com/3057964/the-outsiders-ryan-hurst-on-the-importance-of-finding-a-character-through-tattoos/6) with Ryan Hurst talking about the Farrell tattoos – and some drawings of Hasil’s!_

* * *

 

Her underwear slid down her calves and pooled expectantly around her ankles. She was careful stepping out of them – she knew it would completely ruin the moment if she tripped and fell face-first onto the bathroom floor – and then she arched her leg over the tub, her toes and foot quickly submerging into the warm embrace of the water. 

She didn’t look back at him as she lifted her other leg over the edge; in a way, it seemed too intimate, somehow too much, despite the fact that both of them were naked as they day they’d been born and they were about to share a bathtub. But Hasil held his hand up for her to take so she wouldn’t lose her balance, and even as she lowered herself down and settled against him, she didn’t let it go.  

Instead, she dragged it down into the water, pulling both of their arms across her waist, letting herself feel entirely encircled by him. 

His chest was solid and warm against her back, and as she sat between his legs, there was only the sensation of his thighs pressing against her hips, even as the long, pale lines of his calves and feet disappeared into the depths at the other end of the tub. And the water, it was everywhere, softly kissing the backs of her knees, the bottom of her rib cage, the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. 

Sally Ann leaned her head back against him, resting it on his shoulder. With a long exhale, she let her eyes drift closed, feeling all the tension in her body ebb away with the subtle motions of the water. Hasil didn’t say anything, but she could feel the slight pressure of his head against hers, the feather-light kiss he left on the top of her cheekbone. 

“Mmmm…” she murmured. “This is nice.”

The moment the words left her lips, she realized how silly and simple they must have sounded, and how completely inadequate they were to describe what she was feeling. Because it was more than just nice: it was wonderful and beautiful and perfect. It was like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. Here, with him, she felt safe and protected, surrounded by the shield of his love for her, a love she had given up trying to understand. Because, she now knew, there was nothing to understand. Hasil’s love was pure and elemental, like the bright sunshine or the rain, and she didn’t want to question it or fight against it any longer. She wanted only to surrender. 

Sometimes, though, it was hard to quiet her head: all those voices, all those fleeting thoughts, everything that told her not to trust her own happiness, everything that made her question what she had done, how she had upended her own life – as pitiful as it might have been – for someone who could leave her just as easily as her momma or her daddy had. But those thoughts came less frequently these days. And right now, at this moment, she couldn’t hear them at all. 

“Hmmm…” She could feel the sound as it rumbled in his chest. “Tell me, Sally Ann, wha’ else ya like? Wha’ else makes ya happy?”

“Why?” 

“Jus’ like ta know, I guess. I like learnin’ things ‘bout ya.”

She could feel the faint smile on her lips fading, because even though his question was simple, it wasn’t so easy to answer. No one had ever asked her anything like that before, and it wasn’t something she had ever spent much time thinking about. There had always been more important things to consider – like her brother’s moods, and paying the rent – and Sally Ann found herself unable to immediately think of anything to tell him. 

“Ice cream,” she finally said. 

“Ice cream?” he repeated.

“Yeah… It’s like…” She laughed, trying to think of a way to describe it. “Remember the marshmallows? It’s sweet like that, but cold, and more like a thick liquid. Comes in all kinds of flavors… chocolate, strawberry, cookies and cream…”

“Sounds good,” he said, his voice growing warm, “if ’s anythin’ like those marshmallows… Wha’ else?”

“Hmmm…” she murmured. Now that she had come up with something, it didn’t seem quite so hard to think of more. “Sleepin’ in… That’s when you don’t have get up early for anythin’ and you can just stay in bed as long as you like.” 

“So, uh… we been doin’ a lotta sleepin’ in these pas’ few days?” he asked in amusement.

She grinned and rolled her gaze up to meet his. “Nah, it normally ain’t sleepin’ in when you do it in the middle of the afternoon. Then it’s just a nap.”

“We gotta try it out in th’ mornin’ then…” he said, the corner of his mouth curled up temptingly. “But keep goin’… Tell me som’thin’ else.”

She stretched out a little against him, feeling the ripple of the warm water, his skin warm and slippery against her own as they shifted next to each other. 

“I like listenin’ to all the singin’ in church,” she said quietly. “And I like readin’, losin’ myself in a book for a while.” 

It was a little harder, she realized, to talk about these last two things, as both were mostly beyond his understanding – at this point, at least – and it might take some time to explain it all. Nor was she really sure that she  _could_ explain, not in the way she wanted to. She didn’t know how to put it into words, how to show him that both these things had possessed the power to temporarily transport her beyond her own senses, beyond her little life, to a place where everything was different, where it was always better.

But Sally Ann didn’t want to think about that any more. She only wanted to think about the man with her in the bathtub, his arm still wrapped across her body, his hand curled in hers. So she released his hand and turned her body around towards him, her chest now pressed partially against his. 

“Now it’s my turn,” she said, and as their eyes met, she could see the sparks transforming into flames within the depths of his gaze. She felt a wave of warmth coiling through her, and she knew she couldn’t blame it solely on the temperature of the water. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

“What’ya wan’ ta know?” he asked, his eyes momentarily dropping down towards his chest.

“What they mean. Don’t they mean somethin’?” 

“Yeah, they mean som’thin’…” he said, a half-smile forming across his mouth.

“So…?”

Hasil sighed, but the smile remained, broadening and lighting up his face, until all she could feel was her heart in her throat and her pulse racing steadily after it. 

“Th’ ones on my arms, they’s clan markin’s. ‘Cause there’s three clans up on th’ mountain: Farrell, Shay, McGintuk. These –” he shrugged his shoulders slightly “– is Farrell.” 

That was surprising, to say the least: she hadn’t even thought that there could be so many people up there, enough for there to be different groups and families. 

“So what’s it all mean, the bird, all the lines?”

“Stories, mos’ly,” he said. “Legends. All those lines tell th’ tales a’ th’ clan… at leas’ tha’s wha’ they say. Ta tell ya th’ truth, I don’ know if I could tell ya wha’ half a’ ‘em mean.” He looked down, his eyes clouding over a little. “My folks ’s the ones s’pposed ta impart all that ta me…”

Impulsively – perhaps as a way of offering comfort, as a way of wordlessly telling him that she intended to make up for every one of those childhood days when he felt alone or overlooked – she leaned towards him, pressing her lips against the dark blue marks that lay across the rounded muscle of his upper arm. And then she lifted her head, quietly shifting her body against his, and kissed the other one, too.

She didn’t look up at him as she settled back down between his legs, knowing that if she did, the fire in his gaze would surely ignite the same reaction in her, and she would be powerless to stop what would follow. And she wanted to hear more, more about his tattoos, more about his life on the mountain.

“What about this one?” she asked, brushing her thumb against the tattoo splayed across the middle of his torso. Only part of it was visible, the rest submerged under the water. 

“Tha’s th’ tree a’ life,” he said, as he ran his fingertips along the length of her bare shoulder and arm. “Th’ earth, th’ mountain, ev’rythin’ on it, it all protects us, keeps safe, keeps us warm an’ fed. But this one here, ‘s th’ tree in winter, wi’ no green, no leaves. ‘S jus’ waitin’ for summer ta come ‘long.”

“Waitin’ for summer, huh?” she asked, offering him a tiny, teasing grin. 

Leaning down towards the middle of his chest, she kissed the spindly branches at the top of the tattoo, her lips lingering at each point where a leaf might emerge and flourish into green. As she moved, she noted a subtle shift in his breathing – more shallow, more rapid – even as the rest of his body stayed completely still. Looking up, she let her eyes skim over the angry pink and red bruises – she didn’t want to think about them, not right now – and fixed her gaze on the design that lay right across his heart. 

“And that?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the pair of antlers.

“My fav’rite one,” he said, tilting his head back a little so he could look at her more easily. “Tha’ buck, he‘s th’ firs’ big animal I shot.”

“You killed him?” she asked in dismay. 

“I did… ‘though if ‘s any cons’lation, I skinned an’ ate ‘im, too. Fed me for a good lon’ time.”

She nodded, half-wishing she hadn’t said anything. Of course he would have to hunt for meat up there; it wasn’t as if they had a supermarket where you could buy steaks covered in plastic wrap. 

“But then I saw ‘im again,” he said, “th’ nex’ spring. Same buck, same number a’ points, same velvet sheddin’ off his antlers. Jus’ looked at me for a li’l while, not angry or nothin’, an’ then walked back inta th’ trees.”

“The same deer?” she asked doubtfully. 

“Mmmm-hmmm… Seen ‘im now five or six times. Always th’ same.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any ghosts up on the mountain.” She was just trying to tease him a little, but part of her wondered if he hadn’t been completely forthcoming when she had asked about the crazy stories the townspeople told about life up there. 

“Aw, he ain’t no ghost. He’s som’thin’, but he ain’t no ghost.” Hasil smiled, and looked down at the antlers inked upon his chest. “Tha’s why I asked for these markin’s. I like seein’ ‘im, y’know. ‘Cause he an’ I, we’s connected. I like knowin’ tha’ as lon’ as he’s ‘round, so am I.”

Sally Ann couldn’t help but smile back at him. It didn’t make a lick of sense – deer that never die, that follow you around and watch over you – but she realized that she believed him anyway. Because in spite of his denials, it still seemed like all sorts of things were possible up there, that life on the mountain was somehow governed by a strange kind of magic. 

She would have never admitted it to herself before – being the practical girl that she was, always thinking of what needed to be done and then doing it – but Sally Ann wanted nothing more than to succumb to the wonder of his tales. She wanted nothing more than to be enchanted. 

Slowly, she arched down towards his body, just barely opening her mouth as she laid it along the blue markings; she glanced up, their eyes meeting and locking in a burst of heat as she began to trace her lips and then her tongue along his skin. Hasil tried to move, but silently she quelled him, pressing his arms down onto the rim of the tub as she continued to lavish him with her attentions. Travelling upwards, she relished the taste of salt on his skin, lingering at his throat, the jut of his collarbone, the smooth length of his neck. He was reaching the limits of his control, she could tell, because even though he had closed his eyes, his breath hitched every time she found a particularly sensitive spot, and she could hear the low groan he held stifled in the back of his throat. It was only once she reached higher, nibbling gently on his earlobe, that he was entirely overcome, quickly turning and pressing her up against the side of the tub as his mouth sought hers. 

Water sloshed up over the edges and lightly splattered onto the tile floor, but neither of them seemed to notice. They were lost to everything but each other, blind to all but the sweet and gentle magic that had ensnared them both. 


	18. Brought Back to Life

**Prompt** : Like the other prompt where you went back to Sasil's childhood years, how about a story going forward in time where they've been - for whatever reason - separated for many years? How about them seeing one another after 5-10 years, give or take? It'd be interesting to see their reaction (if both are single at this point, after relationships have ended, kids/no kids, etc.) to one another. If you're not taking any more Sasil prompts, no worries, and thanks for reading!

* * *

Walking down the hallway of the lawyer’s office, Hasil glanced up at the harsh florescent lighting that blanketed the walls and carpet with its lifeless, uniform glare. He blinked rapidly and had to look away. So many winters he had been coming here and he still could never quite get used to it.

His task for the rest of the day was relatively simple: at the home supply store, he was supposed to pick up an assortment of items – some metal tools and seed packets, a new pair of glasses for Krake, a replacement chain for the motorized saw they had acquired two winters ago – and pay for it all with the blank check now folded in half inside his pocket. These days, there was no more stealing when they went on runs, no more showing up and scaring everyone half to death. It was mostly just Hasil, driving down the mountain in the truck every few weeks or so, a more familiar presence to the town’s inhabitants, even if he still remained an object of some curiosity.

Things had changed for the clan in the eight winters since that sweltering day when Big Foster died and the invaders made their way onto their land. The mountain, as always, had protected her children, sending the storm with lightning and thunder, the invaders scattering in its wake. After that, everyone down there – the police, the coal company – seemed to understand that there was no real question about getting the clans to move off the mountain, and besides, there were few people willing to go up there to work, not when it involved the risk of deadly storms or unexplained cave-ins. So the company struck a deal with the clans, and promised to leave them alone as they dug a handful of mines on a small, uninhabited part of the mountain. After several days of bargaining, they also agreed to pay for accompanying water and timber rights, all that money going into a trust that the clans could access, with Hasil and G’win as its executors.

G’win had become a strong Bren’in, ruling judiciously over all of them. No one had challenged her leadership, not even Little Foster, whom she had finally married after a tumultuous but rewarding courtship, and now they had a fine four winters-old son, a red-headed terror named Foster Farrell the Eighth, the pride and joy of his father’s heart. As for Asa, no one had seen or heard from him after the day he killed Big Foster; all they found was the door to the box wide open, the keys still sitting in the lock, the man himself up and gone like the powerful and brief summer storm he had always been.

Not as much had changed in Hasil’s life. He still lived in his cabin, sitting on his porch and carving animals on warm summer nights, helping Krake man the still with the knowledge that one day it would be his to operate alone. He had finally become a reader, mostly so he could decipher the documents presented to him at the lawyer’s office, but every so often on one of the runs he purchased a book along with all the other supplies. At first, he had made slow progress in his abilities, but soon enough he found himself tearing through book after book, always eager to know more. Right now, he was in the middle of a story about a boy named Tom Sawyer, and he was looking forward to later tonight, when he could sit with his book in the soft lantern light and lose himself in the escapades of Tom and his friends.

Hasil had likewise settled into his role as unofficial liaison between the mountain and the town; he liked coming down every so often, even though he mostly kept to himself. Being down here, it reminded him of all the things that were possible in the world and, almost always, it reminded him of her. She, too, had left on that summer day, and even though he had searched for her again and again, all that fall and into the winter, he had never seen her again. She was a steadfast figure in his dreams, though, her smile always sweet and bright as the mid-day sunshine, and then he would wake, a sense of loss and emptiness coiling like a dull ache through his chest.

He pushed the glass door open – it gave easily against his hand – and walked outside onto the sidewalk, the skies overcast and a faint autumn chill lingering in the air. The truck was parked right out front and as he walked towards it, he started digging around in his pocket for the keys. It was only once he reached the door, the key held firmly in his outstretched hand, that he looked back along the sidewalk, catching a glimpse of something in his peripheral view. There was a bench about twenty feet away, and sitting on it was a woman. But it wasn’t just any woman. It was her.

At first, Hasil didn’t understand what he was seeing. Perhaps he was dreaming while he was awake, experiencing some small vision, the kind he knew was granted to members of his clan from time to time. Perhaps he had just gone crazy. Because she looked exactly the same, just like the girl he had met in the store, the girl with warm brown skin and two beautiful names whose hair and eyes and smile had radiated with burnished light, the girl who he had lost his heart and his soul to so many summers ago.

For one moment, he let himself entertain the thought that she was real, that she had finally come back to him after all this time.

And then she stood up, looking right at him in that cautious, expectant way she always had. The strangest thing, though, was that she wasn’t alone. Sitting behind her on the bench was a small girl, maybe six or so winters old by Hasil’s estimation, a halo of chestnut-colored curls atop her head. Her skin was a golden, tawny brown, but there was no mistaking that heart-shaped face, the wide, dark eyes that made you want to drown within their depths. The girl was Sally Ann’s, there was no question.

All Hasil could do was stare as she wrapped the girl’s hand in her own and they began to walk towards him. Even if he had wanted to, he wasn’t even sure he could speak, not with his heart lodged in his throat and the beat of it thrumming violently in his veins. There were too many thoughts, too many questions spinning around his head, all wrapped up in hope and fear and wonder and disbelief, and he could feel his knees buckling just a bit. It was like seeing a ghost, someone brought back to life.  

The two of them stepped around the front of the truck, coming to a halt a few feet away from him. The girl leaned towards Sally Ann, eyeing Hasil warily as she pressed her face half-way against her mother’s waist.

“Hey,” Sally Ann said. Her eyes were warm and bashful, a tiny smile on her lips, as if she was trying somehow to make light of her single-word greeting.

“Hi,” he managed to croak out. He could feel the rough throb of the truck keys in his palm; he hadn’t even realized how tightly he had been clutching them.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, the smile growing a little wider.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” At this point, he didn’t even think he was capable of words.

“Hasil, I…” She made a little soundless laugh, glancing quickly down at the ground and then back up at him. It took his breath away to see how beautiful she looked. “It’s good to see you. But, um… I wanted you to meet someone.” She gazed down at the girl, pressing her forward a little with her hip. “This is Lena. My daughter.”

Hasil looked down at the girl, seeing again all the clear resemblances to her mother. There were differences, though: her forehead was a little broader, with strong, serious brows arching across it, her nose just a touch more rounded at the end. On some level, it seemed beyond his comprehension that Sally Ann had a child; looking at the two of them, though, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, there…” he said to the girl, although it didn’t seem to do much to quell her shyness. He tilted his head and gave her a small grin. “Th’ pleasure’s mine, Miss Lena. My name’s Hasil. I’m…” – he glanced up at Sally Ann, their eyes catching for one brief moment – “…well, I’m a ol’ friend a’ yer ma’s.”

The girl didn’t smile or say anything, but her gaze grew a little softer, and his heart warmed as he watched her stand a little straighter, pulling away from her mother just a bit.

“Will you take a walk with us?” Sally Ann asked. “I remember there bein’ a park with a playground a few blocks from here. Unless you got somewhere else to be…” she added, the smile fading slightly from her face.

“Nah, I ain’t got nowhere else ta be,” he said, shaking his head, and it was true. At this point, there was nothing in the wide world that could have dragged him from her side.

The three of them walked in silence up to the park, but even so there was a hum of something in the air, an anticipatory tension that crackled and sparked each time his arm brushed against hers, each time their gazes momentarily caught. The girl was oblivious, tugging and pulling on her mother’s hand, pointing at all the new things that had temporarily captured her attention. And once they reached their destination, her two companions were all but forgotten as she scampered off to play with a few other children atop a large, brightly-colored metal structure in the middle of the grass.

Hasil and Sally Ann found a bench nearby, close enough so she could keep an eye on her daughter, and he found himself sneaking tiny glances at her as they sat side-by-side. Neither of them said anything at first; for Hasil, at least, the moment was so strange and wonderful and unexpected, and while he had so many questions, it was as if he didn’t even know where to begin.

“I heard you’re still livin’ up on the mountain,” she finally said.

“Mmmm-hmmm. I com’ down ev’ry so often… for supplies an’ such,” he added. “But wha’ ‘bout you? Where ya livin’ now?”

“We’re in Pittsburgh…. It’s a big city, about a six hour drive from here.”

There were so many things he wanted to know – Why that place? Why did she leave? – but instead, he nodded in the direction of her daughter, all laughs and squeals as she tumbled down the large metal slide.

“Ya got a husband there?” he asked.

“Uh-uh,” she said, her gaze dropping down towards her lap. “I was with a man for a while, when Lena was younger, but he’s gone now.”

Hasil knew he ought to be feeling something – a stab of jealousy, perhaps – but for some reason it wasn’t forthcoming. If she had been happy, at least for some time, then that was all that mattered. If he couldn’t care for her, protect her, provide for her, then at least there had been someone else that could.

“And you?” she asked, and Hasil could have sworn he heard a waver in her voice. “Are you with anyone?”

“Nah,” he replied, glancing over at her, his cheeks rounding slightly as he shook his head. “There weren’ no one else, not for me…”

That wasn’t the whole story, but none of it was fit for her ears. After she had left, Hasil had been beside himself for weeks and weeks upon end, not knowing how to find her, how to bring her back. It had been the night of the first snowfall when he had finally realized that she was gone for good, that he would probably never see her again, and that night he had gotten so drunk on Farrell wine that even now he couldn’t remember half of what he had done. He had woken up with the daylight, two girls – Shay and McGintuk – in bed with him, and he had promptly rolled over and vomited onto the floor. After that, there had been a few other women, mostly when he was in need of physical companionship, but never one he felt much of anything for. Because all ever he saw was her face, her skin under his hands, her lips pressed against his. Some days he had wondered how much longer he could live like this, knowing that his heart no longer remained in his body, that she had taken it with her when she left him. It was on those occasions that he sought refuge in his books, in his carvings, in his long conversations with Krake. But there were always moments that ached something awful, like watching Little Foster run the gauntlet, seeing the love in his eyes for the woman standing in front of him, the woman who would soon bear his child, and the only thing Hasil could think about was how badly he wanted that for himself, and how it would most likely never happen, not in this lifetime at least.

But all that – the sadness and pain, the dark thoughts that haunted him late at night when everyone else had banked their fires – it had vanished, now that she was here, sitting right next to him. For a moment, he wondered whether Sally Ann had harbored similar feelings while they were apart, but he thought the better of asking her. This was not the time for that, he knew. Instead, he glanced back at her daughter, still happily at play.

“She’s beautiful,” he said.

Sally Ann smiled widely, her cheeks rounding out with pride and pleasure.

“I know,” she replied. “Although her doctor says she’s small for her age. Don’t see why, she eats everythin’ in sight.”

“How ol’ is she?” he asked. He wasn’t quite sure why he asked, but there was something that instinctively told him it was important.  

“She turned seven in May,” she said, turning slightly towards him as she spoke. Her knee momentarily grazed his leg, and rather than pulling it away, she let it linger, allowing the connection between them to remain. “Old enough, though, to start askin’ about her daddy.”

Hasil said nothing, hearing only the pounding rhythm of his own heartbeat. May, he remembered, was in late spring, a full nine months after late summer. And the girl was already seven winters, older than he had originally thought.

“I didn’t just want to tell her about her daddy, and who he was,” she continued. “I got this idea, all stuck in my head, that I would introduce her to him. So here we are.”

She slowly reached out and placed her hand along his arm. He looked down, his attention captivated by the graceful lines of her fingers, the pale pink nails trimmed so roundly and precisely, the thin golden band she still wore on her first finger. He understood everything she was saying, but still he didn’t. Because such a wonder was impossible; yet here it was, the mystery of his own heart, laid right at his feet, and he had no idea what to think.

“Lena, she’s mine,” she said softly, “but she’s yours, too.”

Hasil glanced up at her, saying the first thing that came into his mind. “How?”

She bit her lips together, eyeing him in gentle exasperation and amusement. “I don’t think I gotta remind you of the ‘how,’ Hasil. I woulda thought you’d remember.”

“Nah, a’ course,” he said quickly, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “I remember… I def’nitely remember,” he added with a smile, feeling heat rushing towards his cheeks. He recalled all the times they had been together, every single instance, all those beautiful days and nights in that deserted house where all they had was each other. They had made a home in that place, at least for a time. But now, it turned out, they had made something else, too. “How come ya didn’ say nothin’?”

“I didn’t know, not for a while,” she said. “And by the time I knew, I was gone, and I didn’t know how to come back, how to tell you.” She ran her hand down his arm, quickly finding his hand and enfolding it into hers. “I’m sorry, Hasil. I just… I didn’t know what to do.”

He nodded, pulling her hand more tightly into his grip. “‘S okay,” he murmured. “Ya’ll are here now. Ya brought my child back ta me.”

Hasil could feel himself seized by a great wave of emotion, the threat of tears welling in his eyes. Because it was true: so much time had passed, so much sorrow and loss, but it was enough to have her here now, enough to know that together they had made this beautiful and miraculous creature, a living piece of himself that he knew, even now, he would die for.

“I thought about comin’ back and tellin’ you a thousand times,” she continued, “but I didn’t. I couldn’t imagine what you would say or how you would feel, after so long. I was scared, I guess…”

He could hear a slight tremor in her voice, but even so she kept talking, the words continuing to flow out of her mouth, as if by using so many of them she could outrun what she felt.

“And then knowin’ she has this other family, who may not even want her because she’s not one of them… it made it so hard to know what to do. So I didn’t do anything. But she deserves to know where she came from. And you deserve to know her…” She paused, but just for a moment, taking a quick breath before she began again. “So one morning I got her dressed and instead of takin’ her to school, we just got in the car and started drivin’. Once we got here, I didn’t know how to find you, but people said you come down every so often…”

“Sally Ann…” he said quietly.

“But now we’re here,” she continued, shaking her head, “and I don’t even know what I’m doin’. I don’t know what can come of this.” She slowly let out a breath and stared out into the distance, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

“Sally Ann, ya came back,” he said as he squeezed her hand. “Tha’s all tha’ matters. An’ tha’ girl – my li’l girl – she’s got a clan now. They already love ‘er. They jus’ don’ know it yet.”

She quickly turned her head back towards him, tiny bright tears gracing the inside corners of her eyes. All he wanted to do was wipe them away, to tell her that everything would be fine now, that he would take care of her and their daughter and she would never have to be afraid of anything ever again. But even as he knew that only a fool would make those kind of promises, it didn’t stop him from wanting it all the same. And it didn’t stop him from raising his left hand – which still bore the proof of his love for her – and softly brushing his thumb against the delicate edges of her eyes.

“They love her?” she asked.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” he murmured. “She’s one a’ them.”

“Could… could she even go up and meet them?” she asked tremulously. “Don’t they still have guns?”

“Nah, ‘s diff’rent now. ‘S like how I firs’ told ya it was, beautiful an’ calm. There’s a new leader now… no more guns, no more stealin’ from th’ town.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, smiling through her tears. “How are you Farrells gonna meet any women that way?” She laughed a little at her own joke, and then he was laughing too, and in the pleasure of the moment, she leaned towards him, letting herself press up against his side, her head resting against his shoulder. It was so wonderful that he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the warmth and the scent of her.

“We can wait, though, if ya want,” he said quietly. “I can jus’ come down here for a while, spend time wi’ both a’ ya’ll, get ta know her better. Then, maybe, a li’l later, I can take ya’ll up again ta meet ev’ryone. An’ this time, I got a truck,” he added playfully. “No more walkin’.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, letting out a soft sigh. “I’ll think about it.” She paused for a moment and began to trace her thumb against the back of his hand. “Y’know, Hasil, I always used to think of you and that mountain… On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I remembered everythin’ you said about the sky and the stars and all the new wonders. The whole time I was gone, I never saw anythin’ like that.”

Hasil smiled and leaned down so he could gently press his lips against her forehead. Hearing a sudden squeal, he looked across the grass, catching a glimpse of his daughter arcing higher and higher on a swing, the curls of her hair flying every which way, her sweet face alight with joy and happiness.

“Aw, Sally Ann, there’s wonders ev’rywhere,” he said. “Ya jus’ got ta know how ta look for ‘em.”

_ETA: If you like this story, it continues in[Eight Winters Gone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6710026/chapters/15345361)..._


	19. Plants and Their Uses

**Prompt:** Loved how patient Hasil was w/Sally Ann as they went up the mountain. Both of their worlds have been turned upside down, for the good & bad. Maybe a prompt w/Hasil taking care of Sally Ann during her time of the month? Ur choice where they live.

* * *

 

Hasil caught sight of her through the partially-open door, her back to him as she rifled through the cabinet set into the wall above the sink. At first glance, he couldn’t tell what she was looking for, but it quickly became clear that she wasn’t having any luck in finding it. 

As quietly as he could, he slid through the narrow gap between the frame and the door and came up right behind her, his arms quickly wrapping around her waist and his mouth chancing upon a particularly delectable spot of bare skin where her shoulder curved up into her neck. But as his hands traced against her stomach, he could feel her tense a little against his touch, her body not relaxing easily against his as it normally did. 

“Ya okay?” he asked. “Wha’cha lookin’ for?”

“I was just seein’ if there was any Advil or Tylenol,” she said with a small shrug.

“Any what?” He had no idea what she was talking about, but that wasn’t anything particularly new. And by this point, he had figured out that when it came to things that he didn’t understand, it was always easier just to ask her about it rather than trying to pretend that he knew something.

“Those are pain medicines, Hasil. And it looks like there isn’t any…” She gently closed the cabinet door shut, the mirror on the other side swiveling back to display the two of them squarely within its edged confines. He smiled and gave her a little squeeze, and as he glanced up at the mirror, their eyes caught within the reflective surface. 

“Ya feelin’ poorly? Wha’s wrong?” 

“I just got some cramps, is all,” she answered, her gaze dropping down and fixing itself on a point somewhere between the wall and the smooth tiles of the sink counter. 

“Cramps? You mean ya, uh…” He trailed off, not entirely sure of what else to say, not knowing if women down here were as open and nonchalant about the cycles of their bodies as the clan women up on the mountain. 

“Yeah, I got my period,” she said quietly. “I mean, that’s good, I guess, for a lot of reasons… but it also means I don’t feel so great.”

He nodded. Of course, he didn’t like knowing she was in pain, but it was definitely good that she had begun her courses, a clear indication that she wasn’t pregnant. They had never really talked about preventive measures – during their first time together, it had felt like there wasn’t a moment to spare in the frenzy of discovering each other, and after that point, she hadn’t broached the topic and neither had he. And honestly, it wasn’t something he had considered much, the sheer wonder of being with her overwhelming any considerations of practical thinking, but now he could recognize how derelict he had been in not reflecting on his responsibility in the matter. This was a conversation they clearly needed to have, but perhaps just not at this moment, when she was feeling indisposed. 

“An’ ther’ ain’t nothin’ here ta make ya feel any better?”

“I guess not,” she said, shaking her head and leaning back against him slightly. “And sometimes it gets worse, so I should probably think about goin’ to the store to pick up something.”

It had to be bad, then, if she was thinking about leaving the house. She hadn’t gone out since that first night, when she had left him sleeping on the couch and made a trip down to the store to buy food. He hadn't gone out either, not since the afternoon he had come back, his face half-covered in his own blood, and found her waiting for him. This house had become their sanctuary, their refuge, and it was clear that both of them had their reasons for wanting to stay protected within its walls.

“I can maybe go get ya som’thin’,” he said, pressing his head gently against hers.

“It’s not safe for you,” she said. “What if my brother and them find you again? And you wouldn’t even know what to look for in the store.”

“I don’ need ta go ta th’ store, Sally Ann. Not for th’ kind a’ medicine I’m thinkin’ of.”

He leaned down to take her hand and gently pulled her from the small tiled room.

“Here, c’mon,” he said, “I’m gon’ get ya’ll comfort’ble up on th’ couch, an’ then be gone for jus’ a spell. When I get back, I’m gon’ make ya som’thin’ tha’ll help wi’ th’ pain.”

“What’re you gonna make?” she asked as walked down the stairs, little lines of hesitation furrowing across her brow.

“Ya don’t got nothin’ ta worry ‘bout, Sally Ann,” he said, sensing her apprehension. He smiled down at her and gave her hand a tiny rub. “Prom’se it won’ hurt ya none.”

After making sure she was all settled on the couch, a quilt tucked snugly around her, he slid open the window in the back room and stepped out into the open air. Despite the risk, it was nice to breathe freely again, to be in the company of all sorts of green, growing things, to hear the sweet tutting of the meadowlarks and the sparrows. He was careful, though, to scan his surroundings and make sure there was no one in sight before he traipsed into the woods surrounding the back of the house.

From previous excursions he knew that down at the bottom of the hill, the terrain leveled out into a small open meadow, and just along the sunny side of the rise, there was a large concentration of flowering bushes and shrubs. He made his way down, quickly finding the meadow and the bright bloom of flora that skirted its edges, although trying to locate the exact thing he wanted proved more difficult than he had originally thought. But then he tried to hear G’win’s voice in his head – _this’n looks like a daisy, but it ain’t… ya can tell by th’ smell… ‘s sweeter, see?_ – and soon enough he found the first thing he had been looking for.

No one on the mountain knew more about plants and their uses than her, and in the time he had lived with her and her folks, he had tried to learn as much as he could, always following along after her when she went looking for remedies. He hadn’t been much more than a boy, just eleven or twelve winters, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to know more, not just about healing, but anything else she cared to impart to him. Most of it was practical, information to be stored away for later, but some was entirely eye-opening – _see, Hasil, women’s bodies, they change wi’ th’ moon, bleedin’ for a few days when th’ moon turns fat or thin again… th’ blood comes from b’tween their legs, same place a child comes out, an’ tha’s how ya know, if a woman don’t bleed no mor’, she gon’ have a child_. It was only later, after many more winters, that he learned that G’win knew much more than she had told him that summer, that in fact she knew of plants that could keep a child from quickening within a woman’s body. That knowledge was not for him, though, she had told him with a knowing smile, only for the women who came to her in need of some protection from the dangers of childbirth.

Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like if his ma had availed herself of such a remedy. He would never have been born, of course. But she would probably still be alive, along with his fa.

Perhaps that could explain the growing sense of relief he had been feeling ever since Sally Ann had told him that she had started her… _what was the word she had used?_ _her period?_ Now, at least, she wasn’t in any danger of dying just like his ma had. Of course, there had been moments, mostly in the midst of wild daydreams, when he had contemplated what a child of theirs might look like, but in his heart he knew that he would never want to risk her life in such a way. And so again he resolved himself to broach the topic with her, just as soon as she was feeling more herself.

After finding the second item – a small tree tucked near the shade with long waxy leaves and a spray of tiny white flowers – he headed back up the hill, reaching the house without incident and climbing right back through the window.

She was still on the couch when he came in and checked on her, but as he dropped down to lay a kiss on her forehead, he noticed that on top of the quilt, there was a large piece of red rubber splayed across her belly.

“Wha’s tha?” he asked, entirely confused.

“A hot water bottle,” she replied, a weary edge in her voice. “I remembered that there was one in the linen closet upstairs.”

“‘S got hot water in it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Here, feel it…”

He pressed his fingers along the surface, surprised at the level of warmth that was radiating off of it. It seemed like an altogether useful thing to have, and he made a note to think about finding a few of them to take with him when he went back up the mountain.

“I’m gon’ be back in a li’l bit, alright? Gotta make up som’ medicine for ya.”

“Okay,” she said, nestling back into the couch.

In the kitchen, he found some open space on the counter and set himself to stripping off the bark and the flower buds of the plants he had collected. They’d be more effective dried out, but he didn’t have that kind of time, and he’d gathered enough that hopefully he could make up for the diminished potency. He turned the kettle on, and soon enough he had a large handful of his herbal mixture ready to steep in the boiling water. It was important to cover the tea while it brewed – he remembered that from G’win, too – and give it a fair amount of time to work itself into something powerful before finally straining it out and discarding the sodden waste.

Once it was done, though, steam curling off the surface of the liquid, he brought it in to her and helped her to sit up a little on the couch.

“So what is it?” she asked, placing the mug under her nose and taking a whiff. “It smells bitter.”

“Black haw,” he said, “an’ cham’mile.”

“Chamomile, huh?” she said, and took a tiny sip. “Tastes bitter, too.” She wrinkled her nose a little in distaste.

“It’ll help, ya jus’ gotta drink it.”

She nodded, taking another tiny sip.

“Where’d you learn about this?” she asked. “They teach it to everyone up on the mountain?”

“Nah,” he said, settling next to her on the edge of the couch. “I learned it from our healer, when I lived wi’ her.”

“You were livin’ with a woman?” she asked, her voice taking on a quiet and strained tone that he hadn’t ever heard from her before.

“It ain’t like tha’, Sally Ann.” He offered her a grin, hoping to make it clear how innocent the situation had been. “I’s ‘bout ‘leven winters at th’ time. An’ it was wi’ her and her folks in their cabin.”

“Oh,” she said, the tea now cool enough for her to swallow. “Tell me about her.”

“‘Bout G’win? Uh, alright…”

So he told her, all about the spring and summer he had spent learning from her, their walks in the forest and afternoons in the dispensary setting all their cuttings to dry. She had finished her tea by the time he started talking about how he had watched G’win set Tice Farrell’s arm, broken in two places after he had tripped and fallen down a muddy ravine. And by the time he had gotten to the story of G’win’s folks, how they were both carried off by flux within a few days of each other, how she had sought to secretly mend her broken heart in the arms of her cousin Asa, Hasil could see that Sally Ann’s eyes were closed, the medicine having lulled her into a deep state of calm and relaxation. So he gently took the mug from her fingers and set it on a nearby table, and proceeded to pull the quilt up over her shoulders, leaving her soft, beautiful face uncovered in the afternoon night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: please do not try to make the tea described in this ficlet… I am not a physician, I learned about this stuff on the internet, so it will probably not work and/or kill you if you try to make it yourself. Thanks!


	20. A Different Person

**Prompt:** High school AU with Sally Ann as a popular girl and Hasil as a skater boy (inspired by [this photoset](http://lafiametta.tumblr.com/post/150866691332/i-seemed-to-have-loved-you-in-numberless-forms))

* * *

Sally Ann stepped cautiously through the doorway of her chemistry classroom. It was the first day of school and everything smelled scrubbed and clean, the halls and the floors holding the faint whiff of industrial cleaner. Everyone’s clothes even smelled new, like they had just come from the store, or at least washed with a little too much detergent. 

She spotted an open desk next to two of her friends from the cheerleading squad and quickly made her way over. Like Sally Ann, they were all wearing their cheer uniforms; their coach, Miss Grimes, had instructed all the girls to wear them as a show of school spirit on the first day, and every single one of them knew that disregarding Miss Grimes’ instructions was a sure-fire ticket back down to the JV squad. 

“I didn’t know you were in this class,” said Gwen, turning around in her seat towards Sally Ann, her red-gold curls shining in the light from the nearby windows.

“I switched Spanish classes,” Sally Ann replied, opening up her backpack and pulling out a brand new notebook. “I told them about Señor Osborn and how he kept looking at me weird all last spring.” 

“Ew, gross,” offered Sharon, sitting in the next row. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Sally Ann, shrugging her shoulders casually. “So...”

She let her voice trail off, hoping the conversation would stop there. While it was true that she had caught Señor Osborn staring at her on a number of occasions last year – mostly on days she had been wearing her cheer uniform – that hadn’t been the real reason she had wanted to change her schedule. With different class times, she now had the last period of the day free, which allowed her to sign out early from school on the days when she worked the afternoon shift at her part-time job. 

Nobody at school knew about the job – and she planned on keeping it that way. Her popularity, as shaky as it was, would take a direct hit if people found out she was working the register at a big box store two towns over. And it was embarrassing, the fact that she and her brother could barely pay their rent, now that his hours at the plant had been cut back. The girls on the squad – even her friends like Gwen and Sharon – they wouldn’t understand, not with their nice houses and designer jeans, with the cars their parents bought them for their sixteenth birthdays. It was hard enough not really feeling like one of them; she wasn’t about to advertise the depressing realities of her life.

The bell rang and room quieted a little as the teacher came up to the front of the room and began to take attendance. Sally Ann could hear Gwen and Sharon whispering across the row; rather than trying to listen in, she opened up her notebook and started doodling her name, surrounding it with spirals and tiny flowers.

“Sally Ann Evans?” 

“Here,” she said loudly, not looking up from her notebook. 

“Hasil Farrell?”

Sally Ann’s head quickly swiveled up and around, as a mumbled “Yeah” eventually emerged from the back corner of the room. She couldn’t see him exactly, not with the people blocking her view, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered, considering the dark hoodie that he had pulled up onto his head. 

From where she was, she could see that he looked a little bigger than he had the last time they had been in a class together, English during freshman year. Back then, he had been small, almost scrawny, sitting behind her as his name followed alphabetically, never saying a word in class or opening a book, making her wonder if he had been able to make it all the way to 9th grade without actually knowing how to read. The only other thing she remembered – aside from his silence – were his eyes, so clear and blue-gray, long dark lashes fanning up towards serious brows. She had only glanced at them on occasion, when she turned in her seat to pass back some handouts, and once when he handed her a pen she had accidentally dropped on the floor, but she had been surprised at how strangely sad they looked, somehow gentle and intently focused at all once. And each time – even more of a surprise – she had caught him staring right back at her.

“Oh, god, Hasil’s in this class?” Gwen whispered back at Sally Ann while she quickly scanned the rest of the room.  “At least he didn’t bring any of his weirdo friends with him.”

Their school wasn’t that big, and the cliques were pretty well-known: Hasil hung out with the freaks and the skaters who wore overly baggy clothing and spent their time outside of class standing around and smoking while they watched each other practice skate tricks against the concrete edges of the parking lot. That being said, “hung out” was a pretty loose term. He didn’t seem to have that many friends, although she knew he had family, a few cousins of unknown quantity whose academic progress appeared to be as spotty as their school attendance. What was even weirder was that they all seemed to live together – aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone – in some ramshackle place on a back road off the highway. She had heard rumors that all they did there was make meth, but she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Sally Ann’s attention focused back on the front of the room as the teacher, Mr. Houghton, began to talk about the class. It all seemed pretty straightforward, until he explained that they would be assigned lab partners – that they would have for the _entire_ year – and that they would start their first lab today. She looked around, hoping that at least she would be paired with someone halfway normal – maybe even one of her friends, if she was lucky – and then her heart sank as she heard the instructions that Mr. Houghton began to give.

“Okay, folks, we’re doing this alphabetically, so Aaronson and Adams over at that first table…” – he pointed to the lab table closest to the door – “…and then Atkinson and Caramazza, Diaz-Heaney and Doyle, Evans and Farrell…”

At that point, Sally Ann stopped listening, simply letting her eyes close in resignation as she let out a tiny sigh.

“Oh, that sucks,” Sharon mumbled. “Sorry…”

“Yeah,” said Sally Ann, opening her eyes to see her two friends staring sympathetically back at her. “Well, just my luck, huh?”

“Don’t let him say any weird things to you, or breathe on you weird,” added Gwen. “You should totally tell if he does, though. Maybe you can get him suspended, or like expelled or something…”

“Uh, okay,” said Sally Ann, as she gathered up her pen and notebook. Now that the lab partners had been assigned, Mr. Houghton was explaining, they were supposed to start work at their tables. She gave her friends one final grimace before making her way over to her assigned table, where printed instructions and glassware had already been left for the two of them.

Sally Ann picked up the instructions, trying her best to study them intently even as she was half-watching the figure emerge from the last row of desks and walk towards where she was standing. As he came closer, finally stopping right next to her, she was shocked at how tall he had gotten. He towered almost a head over her, and had filled out in other areas as well, clearly visible even underneath his over-sized clothes. He had pushed the hoodie off his head, but he was wearing a knit gray hat that covered almost all of his light brown hair, although a few curls edged their way over the tops of his ears and down the back of his neck.

He was looking at her again, in that way she remembered, and she found herself feeling incredibly self-conscious, her cheer uniform now far too small and short for her liking, her arms and legs too bare. She quickly brushed her hair so it fell over her shoulder, letting it cover that bit of skin that was the closest to him.

“So, uh, should we get started?” she asked, trying to keep her voice normal and calm – and not in the least bit shaky – as she stared back at the paper in her hands.

He didn’t say anything, but she saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. Shifting his weight a little, he put both of his hands up against the edge of the table, and as she looked down she noticed that two of his fingers seemed to be missing.

“Oh my god, what happened to your hand?” she asked without thinking.

He lifted his left hand off the table and glanced at it for a moment; he was wearing fingerless leather gloves, but it was clear now that his last two fingers were completely gone.

“Just an accident,” he said quietly, his gaze now catching hers.

“An accident?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in doubt.

“Yeah,” he replied, and as he looked at her, Sally Ann found it harder and harder to glance away. There was something in his eyes, a mystery she found herself wanting to solve, something odd and curious and strangely different. Because he was looking at her – and while she was more than used to boys looking at her, eyeing her up-and-down hungrily with acquisitiveness in their gaze, standing next to Hasil, it felt like he was actually seeing _her_ somehow, seeing all her doubts and fears and secrets, baring them more easily than the skin she had half-displayed to the world. But that couldn’t be real, could it? She didn’t know him, and he certainly didn’t even know her. They were too different to be anything more than strangers.

There was no reason that her heart should be beating as fast as it was, an insistent rhythm that she found oddly difficult to ignore. 

“Um… okay, then,” she said, finally wresting her gaze away. It was only then that she thought to wonder what kind of accident would cause someone to lose two fingers.

She turned her attention back to the instructions, hoping that by focusing on the lab she could set aside all of the strange feelings that Hasil Farrell seemed to be stirring up in her just by his mere proximity. They began to follow the steps laid out for them, Sally Ann reading everything aloud in her clearest voice and Hasil working with the lab equipment after listening to her directions. As he finished each step, she also set herself the task of recording all their results, printing the data neatly on the sheet.

Mostly, they were quiet as they worked, Sally Ann taking quick moments to look as he precisely watched the measurements and used the weighted scale to balance out their liquid-filled beaker.

“You’re really good at this,” she eventually said in partial surprise. “You practice your chemistry at home or something?”

She realized what she had said – or at least what she had implied – a half-second too late, because he looked back at her, a look of dismay suddenly clouding over his face.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t… well, it’s just…”

Sally Ann didn’t know quite what else to say. It was difficult to apologize for unintentionally implying that his family made meth without actually acknowledging the rumor itself.

“‘s okay,” he murmured, turning his face back towards the lab equipment on the table.

“No, it’s not,” she said insistently. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise.” He glanced back at her again and she decided to take her chances and offer him a smile, nothing too big, but enough to let him know she was being genuine. “I swear from this point forward, I’ll only make jokes about you being bad at chemistry.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding a little, and Sally Ann could have sworn that she saw the corner of his mouth tick up slightly before he turned his attention back to their work.

Before long, they had finished all their steps and tabulated the results, Sally Ann writing out their final conclusions in the final space at the bottom of the sheet. She hadn’t even realized how quickly the time had passed until she heard the bell ring, sharply bringing her out of the quiet camaraderie she had been sharing with him.

Before she took their completed results up to the teacher’s desk, though, she caught his eye.

“So… I’ll see you tomorrow, Hasil,” she said, offering him one last smile. She could feel warmth course up through her chest and across her face, catching along the roundness of her cheeks.

“See you tomorrow, Sally Ann,” he replied, his blue-gray eyes trained intently on hers, his lips slowly curling into a boyish smile that she realized was meant for her and her alone. And then he turned, making his way towards the door – he hadn’t brought anything to class, she realized, not even a pencil – and she could only stand there, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Eventually, she would need to grab her things and make her way to her next class, and after that was over, she would change and go to cheer practice and she would be with her friends and it would be as if the last hour never even happened. But she would know. She would remember how he looked at her and how he said her name. She would remember what he looked like when he smiled at her, his face lit up as if he was a different person – a person, she now sensed, maybe only she knew.

_ETA: If you like this story, it continues in[The Laws of Chemistry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8159927/chapters/18699458)..._

 


	21. The Comforting Verses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows 2x04

She could hear the soft patter of rain against the windows, a sound that normally she found relaxing, one that often eased her into sleep. 

But not tonight.

The upholstery of the couch was napped and frayed, with spongy tufts of filling that spilled out from ripped corners, and the whole thing gave off the distinct odor of sweat and weed. Sally Ann tried her best to ignore it, to angle her head a little more so her nose wasn’t quite so close to the fabric. It wasn’t like last night, as they lay in the hammock, every breath filling her lungs with the air of the mountain, as cool and sweet and intoxicating as he had once described it to her. She still wasn’t quite sure why they had needed to leave. Up there, he had family, he had people who could help them. Because they would need help, what with all the things that were about to happen to them, all the things she wasn’t really letting herself think about, not just yet.

Down here, they didn’t have anybody. She didn’t have a home, not with James, and Naomi’s house was nothing more than a distant – but still beautiful – memory. The only person they had been able to turn to for help was the last person in the world she would have imagined.

She was surprised he knew Butch. It was a small town, though; everyone knew Butch.

Even _she_ knew him, although they had never been personally acquainted. He had been a few years ahead of her in school, a senior when she was a freshman. But even after he graduated, he never seemed to actually leave, somehow always on the periphery of the school, his Trans Am continually idling not far from the parking lot. And everyone knew, if you were a white kid looking to get shitfaced, you went to Butch, and he would help you out. The cops always looked the other way – they had bigger problems in this town – and Butch and his Trans Am were somehow always around, just as much a fixture as the Zippy Bee after church or Tony’s on payday.  

She would have thought he would have lived somewhere nicer, for all that he was so well-known.

Sally Ann knew she needed to sleep, but she couldn’t, not with the smell of the couch or the strangeness of this small and dirty apartment Hasil had brought her to, not with all the things that had happened in the past few days running through her mind like a movie on endless repeat.

James screaming at her in the alley, his voice so loud in her ears as her foot finally found the gas.

Her hands clenching around the wheel as she suddenly pulled it to the right, the windshield slapped by moonlit branches and her breath catching up to her in shaky gasps.

The silent girl, who took her hand and guided her through the darkness, as if she knew every step by heart.

Hasil’s hesitation before he reached out, and then the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, so solid and warm, a sensation of pure comfort she couldn’t believe she had denied herself for so long.

The fear that had nestled deep in her belly as they walked together under the yellow circles of the streetlights, the gnawing sensation that they were somehow on the run from something, that they were all alone, about to face a future that neither of them could even comprehend.

It was hard to know what he was thinking. The Hasil she knew – or had known, before the mountain and before their captivity – was an open book, his thoughts and feelings broadcast for the whole world to see. But maybe all that had done something to him. Maybe having to leave his family – this time for good? – had done something to him. Because now, he seemed quieter, cagier, nervous about something he didn’t want to share with her. She hoped and prayed that it didn’t have anything to do with her, or this baby, or how they were possibly going to take care of it and each other.

Sally Ann let out a tiny sigh and felt him shift behind her on the couch. And then she knew he wasn’t asleep either.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, so quiet it could barely be heard over the rain.

At that moment, she wasn’t sure why she had said anything. Was it just that she needed to say it out loud, to voice the feelings she had been carrying alone for weeks? Or was it that she needed to know that he was there with her, that he cared enough about her to try to make it all go away, if only for a few hours?

 “I know.” His arm tightened around her waist, but gently enough that she knew he was thinking about the baby, just there, innocent and unaware as it grew inside her.

“You’re not?” she asked, this time a little louder.

“Didn’ say tha’.”

She wasn’t sure what she had wanted him to say. Maybe if he had said that he wasn’t scared at all, that he had it all figured out, all of it, their lives, their baby’s life, that she would never have to worry again… well, she probably would have laughed at him, but at least now she wouldn’t be filled with an icy sense of dread that neither of them really knew what to do, or what might happen. To hear him voice the same fears she had been secretly keeping in her heart was too much – she needed him to hold her up, not drown with her.   

“Jesus,” she breathed, “what are we gonna do?”

His head nudged closer to hers, the side of her neck warming with his breath.

“Hey, shhh…”

Her eyes squeezed shut as she quickly shook her head back and forth. She could feel panic edging into her voice. “I don’t know what we’re gonna –”

“Listen,” he said, softly quieting her, “we don’ gotta think ‘bout anythin’ ‘til mornin’. All we gotta do right now is go ta sleep, an’ dream sweet dreams, an’ then tomorrow, we gon’ figure wha’ ta do, alright?”

“I just…” And all at once, everything began to flood over her, emotions she couldn’t even name pushing up past her throat and filling her eyes with impatient tears. She covered her face with her hand even though she knew no one could see her, until she heard him whispering softly against her hair.

“Hey, hey, now… shhh…” His voice was quiet and calm, as if he were talking to a spooked animal. Sally Ann felt herself getting angry – she didn’t need him talking down to her – and then she heard him start to hum… or to sing. She couldn’t really tell. If it was singing, she didn’t understand it, not the words or the language, but the low, intoned sounds he was making were somehow beautiful in spite of their strangeness. From the hazy recesses of her mind, she suddenly remembered how her momma had used to sing to her when she was little, how she would jump into the bed on dark nights and press her face against the thin cotton of her momma’s nightgown, strong spindly arms wrapping around her as she fell asleep to the comforting verses of mercy and salvation. And then she started crying again, crying for a mother she had lost, for the family she had never really had, for the child they had made that now needed her – and her love – more than anything.

“It’s all gon’ be alright, I promise,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her shoulder.

Was that what she needed to hear? Maybe it was. Because after a time she nodded, sniffing a little and breathing steadily until everything had settled down, into a place somewhere near her heart, and she stilled, her tired body eventually surrendering to the warm embrace of sleep.


End file.
